The Wretched Misfits and the Hat of Gryffindor
by Scribe of The Fanciful
Summary: It's 1971, and as the Hogwarts Express departs Platform Nine and Three-quarters, a friendship that will define an era begins to take shape. Little do they know, but the choices that this band of misfits will make and the paths that they'll tread will determine the course of history for generations to come...
1. In the Beginning

-CHAPTER ONE-

 _ **In the Beginning**_

The scarlet steam engine roared into life and started billowing smoke with the enthusiasm of a chimney shaft. A scramble broke out across the wide stone platform. There was a general rush towards the train as each and every student, an odd match of those in muggle jumpers and those that had already changed into their sweeping black robes, began muttering rushed farewells to their families and launching themselves towards compartment doors, ready to settle right back into the familiar rhythm of school life.

There was one boy, however, who did not seem eager for his feet to leave the steady ground of the station floor. He tugged nervously at the unravelling threads of his grey pullover, and absent-mindedly scratched at one of the pale scars running along his cheek and jawline. Underneath a shock of sandy hair, his soft brown eyes sought anxiously his father's familiar face.

'Do I have to go?' he breathed, so that nobody else could hear.

Lyall Lupin smiled warmly at his son, and bent down to give him what might have passed for a reassuring hug, if there hadn't been the faint shine of tears on his thin cheeks.

'It's going to be fine, Remus,' he sighed, although Remus could tell that he was desperately trying to reassure himself.

The boy's mother put up a rather better show: she grinned widely and squeezed her son's hand with slender fingers. She was pretty, in a plain sort of way, with smooth dark hair and slender shoulders, and although her clothes were old and faded, there was not a tear or stain on them.

'You've got to try, darling,' she said gently, 'You owe it to yourself to try. You've dreamed about this for years, I know you have. Just make sure that you come back home every holiday and tell me all about it, won't you?'

'But what if I-'

Hope pushed back her son's hair form his eyes, and kissed his forehead before clutching him tightly to her small frame as though there was nothing else in the world that mattered.

'So long as you take care, nothing is going to happen, Remus. This is your chance to just be a boy for once, and darling, no one deserves that more than you do.'

Remus nodded, but as he did so the train whistled loudly, and his father jumped as he looked for the first time at the enormous clock hanging on the platform wall.

'Great Scott - the time! It's almost eleven! Remus you'd better get going!'

Remus didn't hear him; he had buried himself in his mother's arms and was trying to focus on memorising the exact smell of her perfume: the soft scent of cheap lavender.

'Remus! You're going to miss the train.'

Hope Lupin stroked her son's hair affectionately, and prised him away from her. She kissed him again, then stepped back as Remus grabbed his trunk with both hands and helped his father manoeuvre it through the wide train doors. The second that he was inside, he turned around to look back at his parents. He wanted to say one final goodbye before he was swept away from them, but before he could even open his mouth the doors of the train slammed shut, and Remus could only watch as the steam engine pulled out of the station. His mother and father's tear streaked faces were lost in the sea of happy families crowded onto the platform.

* * *

The small boy named Peter sniffed nervously. He turned to look at the train around him, and was almost surprised to see that it was filled with people laughing raucously and greeting each other after a summer spent apart. He had hardly noticed them he wasn't alone, he was so caught up in watching his mother's sombre face as she disappeared from view.

It was impossible not to notice them now, though: the students with cages of owls and packets of exploding snap and Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans all colours of the rainbow. So loud was the volume in the corridor that he wanted to cover his ears - it seemed that every single student on the train was making some sort of ear-splitting noise.

It also seemed that every single one of them was ignoring him. He had expected that they might. His height and unremarkable mouse-brown hair had been part of what made Peter Pettigrew invisible his whole life. He usually told himself that he didn't mind. Peter's life was a simple one. He lived alone with his mother, or his paternal aunt when his mother was working, only occasionally spending time with some of the muggle children in his village. He didn't like it when he was with muggles. He felt like he was constantly having to keep some sort of awful secret, and it made him nervous. It would have been better if he had been able to play with other wizarding children, but there weren't any near where he lived. Besides, he doubted very much if they'd want to have anything to do with him if there were. Peter wasn't exactly what you'd call a natural at making friends.

Peter screwed up his eyes and thought as hard as he could, trying to fix the image of his mother, waving goodbye behind her flowered handkerchief and bleached-blonde curls in his mind. He wasn't sure when he would see her again. She had promised him that she'd be home for Christmas, but he wasn't sure that he believed her. He loved his mother very much, but it made him sad when she had to work at the last minute and she left him with his aunt. Although it was undoubtedly his aunt's house that he enjoyed being in more, because it was far larger than his mother's and Peter had far more books and games there, he liked it very much when his mother came home at weekends. She'd take him out to Diagon Alley and they'd have ice cream or she'd buy him Chocolate Frogs for his collection. This Christmas, though, with all of the extra hours that his mother was spending at the Daily Prophet, Peter was almost certain that it would be just him and his aunt.

After a wistful glance at a group of students tucking into a pile of pumpkin pasties, Peter began hefting his trunk down the train in search of somewhere quiet. It was a difficult task. The trunk was almost as tall as he was, and definitely twice as heavy. He couldn't stop himself from hoping as he puffed and panted his way past large groups of people, bickering happily, that one of them might offer to lend a hand. They didn't - of course they didn't. Why should they?

'Excuse me,' came a voice. Peter almost dropped his trunk in shock and stared wide-eyed over his shoulder to see who had spoken. It was a small girl with pale brown hair and tiny square glasses that looked as though they needed a good clean. She had not yet had time to change in to her Hogwarts robes, and so like him was dressed in an ordinary jumper and a pair of shabby dungarees.

'Hello,' Peter breathed, looking at the girl and feeling a flicker of excitement in the pit of his stomach. She was talking to him!

'Hi,' she girl mumbled, and pointed at the compartment door that Peter had dropped his trunk in front of, 'I don't suppose that I could get through?'

'Sure,' Peter agreed blindly, then blinked a few times while he let what she had said sink in, 'Oh, right.' He set about moving his trunk, and the girl stood awkwardly watching him, pulling at a thread on her sleeves.

'Are you a first-year?' Peter panted, dragging trunk inch by inch, too relived that someone had noticed him to be annoyed that she was watching him struggle rather than offering a hand. The girl nodded, and was about to say something in return when the compartment door opened and out stepped another girl. Peter couldn't help but notice that she was very pretty, with shiny blonde hair that tumbled past her shoulders.

'You all right Lauren?' she asked the girl in dungarees, 'where did you go? I saved you a seat, you know.'

'Thanks,' the girl named Lauren grinned, relaxing at the sight of her friend, and darted into the compartment without a second look at Peter. He stood there, gawping at the girl with the blonde hair and trying desperately to think of something to say. Maybe if he could make her like him then the girls would let him share their compartment. He looked through the glass and saw a pile of them, a few clearly older than first year, and wearing large yellow scarves, pouring over the pages of glossy magazines and whispering animatedly. The girl outside narrowed her eyes and looked at him curiously.

'What did you say your name was?'

'Peter,' Peter said at once, 'Peter Pettigrew.'

'Nice to meet you Peter,' the blonde girl smiled, and then slid back into the compartment, closing the door behind her. She hadn't been cruel, but somehow Peter got the message as though she had shouted it. He wasn't wanted there.

* * *

Sirius Black regretted not saying goodbye to his family the second that they slid out of view, but he hadn't been able to stomach listening to his father rant at him for a second longer. All summer he had been unusually unpleasant, constantly making wry remarks about how perhaps at school Sirius might finally make a name for himself outside of that of Black. His mother had hardly been better. She had spent the summer fussing over Regulus, who had been gutted that his older brother was going to Hogwarts without him.

It was tugging at Sirius' mind that he should probably have said something to Regulus other than a garbled line about seeing him at Christmas, but he honestly couldn't find anything to say to his brother, the family's golden boy, that wouldn't end with one or both of them feeling overly envious at the other's good fortune.

Sirius bit his lip, swallowed his frustration with overwhelming difficulty, and dragged his trunk behind him as he searched for a compartment. His father had instructed him that the second that he was on the train he should seek out Lucius Malfoy - his cousin Narcissa's boyfriend and, the rest of the family hoped, future husband. Orion had described him as an intelligent and respectable young man, exactly the sort of boy that he would want looking out for his son at school. Sirius had even met Lucius once before, but despite his father's insistence he had no desire to repeat the experience. Lucius Malfoy was, in the eyes of Orion and Walburga Black, perfect, which was precisely why Sirius loathed him. He did not want any more reminders of how much of a failure his family found him, not now that he was, free of them.

Oddly, however, there did not seem to be a single free compartment. The train was barely two minutes out of the station and already it seemed that every single student had found a place to sit. Sirius scowled as he passed a compartment of Hufflepuff girls giggling intently over an article in the latest Witch Weekly; he bit his lip as he lugged his trunk through a group of Ravenclaws happily bickering over chocolate frog cards; he turned his head to one side and practically ran past a carriage of sixth year Slytherins in case one of them recognised him and called him over.

If all else failed, Sirius decided, it wouldn't be the end of the world to find his cousin Dromeda and sit with her. He liked Andromeda Black a lot. She was by far his favourite relative, but it wouldn't be ideal for him to spend his first train journey to Hogwarts hanging around with a bunch of seventh year Slytherin girls. He didn't want it to look like he didn't know how to fit in.

* * *

'Oi, Potter!'

James spun around rather quicker than intended at the sound of his own name, and his face split into a grin as he realised who it was that had shouted it.

'Jorkins!' he sighed, relieved to see a familiar face at last. Bertha Jorkins, a third year girl with wavy red-brown hair and wide, watery blue eyes was running towards him down the train corridor, her thick black and yellow school scarf trailing behind her.

'How are you?' Bertha beamed at him, 'I had no idea that you were coming to Hogwarts this year! Are you excited?'

James smiled back and nervously ran a hand through his jet-black hair, trying in vain to smooth it down.

'You bet,' he admitted, 'Hey, Bertha, I don't suppose you've come across any empty compartments, have you? It just seems like everywhere else is full...'

'Sure,' Bertha shrugged, grabbing his enormous trunk and yanking it after her, 'there's one right at the end that was empty the last time I looked. If you wanted somewhere to hang, though, there's room in our compartment,' she pointed towards a group of Hufflepuff third years pouring over magazines and having what looked like an intense discussion. Somehow, James didn't think that they were talking about Quidditch.

His heart sank a little. It wasn't that he didn't like Bertha - she was pleasant enough, if a little dim. No, what was bothering James was that if he sat with the Hufflepuffs, he wouldn't get the chance to make new friends until after the Sorting Ceremony, which was still hours away.

Up until now, James had met surprisingly few wizarding children. Even though the Potters were one of the oldest magical families, Fleamont and Euphemia had always kept their son James apart from the rest of the wizarding world. To James' disappointment the only magical children he had ever spent any time with were those, like Bertha, who were related to his parents' friends. James felt this sort of defeated the novelty of being friends, seeing as he had been given no choice but to get along with them. He could scarcely contain his excitement when he had walked onto platform nine and three-quarters for the first time and been met with the sight of hundreds of other students. Who were they all? What were their names, and more importantly, what were their Quidditch teams?

'Thanks,' he said, quickly, 'but I think I'll go down the end of the train.' He saw Bertha's hurt expression and added quickly, 'Just for somewhere to put my trunk. I might join you later though...'

Mercifully, Bertha nodded and headed back to her friends with a thin smirk.

'Well, if you're sure. Catch you later, Potter! Can't wait for the Sorting!'

'Yeah,' James mumbled, 'I can't wait either.'

He pushed his fringe out of his eyes, shoved his free hand in his pocket and made his way down to the end carriage. His trunk was very large and difficult to move around, but luckily it was not at all heavy. James' father had charmed it with an extension spell, so even with the great stack of Martin Miggs comic books and all of the sweets that his mother had packed, it was as light as a feather. This had made it considerably easier to carry it down the length of the train, but it hadn't done much in the way of impressing his mother, who had tutted loudly about rule-breaking while her husband grinned, oblivious. James opened the doors of the empty compartment and lifted his trunk easily onto the seats.

'Excuse me?'

James looked up. Standing in the open compartment doorway was, to James' horror, another girl. She too had long wavy hair, but unlike Bertha's it was flame red, and her eyes were the colour of spring grass. She was younger than Bertha, too - perhaps the same age as James, although he wasn't sure. He was never sure when it came to girls.

'Um, hello?' he said, tugging at his hair and pushing his glasses further up his nose, unsure of what else to say, 'Can I help you?'

'I was wondering if that seat was taken,' she said shortly, nodding at the window, and James realised with a jolt that her green eyes were rimmed with red and there were tears shining on her cheeks. Great, he thought bitterly, the only thing worse than a girl was a _crying_ girl.

'Go ahead,' he shrugged, privately wishing that she would go away because now he would have to talk to her.

The girl sniffed, pulled her trunk in after her, and curled up in a corner, staring with rapt interest at the trees and neat hedgerows flicking past the window.

'I'm James, by the way,' he said in a rather hopeless attempt at conversation.

His companion's only acknowledgement was the wiping of her nose on her cardigan sleeve.

'What's your name?' he tried again, looking at her and attempting in vain to figure out why she might be crying.

'Lily,' she mumbled, without turning to look at him.

'Lily,' James repeated, 'nice name.' That was what you were supposed to say to girls, wasn't it?

There was a stagnant pause in which the only sounds were the soft rumble of the train and the sound of happy chatter outside the compartment doors. James couldn't bear it. He would try one last valiant attempt at engaging the girl in conversation before he left in search of better company, He'd be damned if he spent the entirety of his first journey to Hogwarts shut in a compartment with a crying little girl.

'I don't suppose you want to tell me what's wrong?'

'No,' the girl named Lily said.

Oh well, thought James, it was worth a try. He was just about to get to his feet when there was a knocking on the glass panes of the door. Thankful for the distraction, he turned to see if it was Bertha again, but it wasn't. It was, thankfully, a boy this time, with smooth black hair that hung in his eyes and fine, pale features. James jerked his head to invite him in, and the boy grinned. Relieved at the warm welcome, he popped his head around the door.

'Not wanting to interrupt anything important,' he smirked, gesturing at the red headed girl who was still avoiding looking anywhere near James, 'but I don't suppose that there's room for one more? Everywhere else is packed to the roof.'

'Be my guest,' James shrugged, 'although be careful of this one,' he nodded at Lily, 'she's quite the talker.'

His teasing rewarded him with a sharp glare, which lasted almost a full five seconds before the girl turned her attention back to the window. He supposed that he should be flattered.

The long-haired boy frowned at James, his good humour diminishing slightly.

'Can't you see that she's upset?'

'Yeah,' said James, 'I've asked her what's up, but apparently it's private.'

'It's not very gentlemanly to pry into a girl's private business,' the boy sighed. He dropped his trunk on the floor with a crash and sank back onto the seat with almost exaggerated grace.

'Gentlemanly?' James raised his eyebrow disbelievingly, 'I bet you get all the girls.'

To his relief, the other boy's smirk returned.

'My mother wishes.'

Lily gave a little sniff that might have been a snort of laughter in her corner, but said nothing.

'Bit soon to be thinking about that, isn't it?' James sniggered, looking the boy up and down in his sharp black trousers and shirt, 'It's not as if you're any older than I am. You're a first year too, right?'

The boy nodded, shrugged, and kicked off his shoes. He shot James a strange look as though he expected him to object, which James found rather odd.

'James Potter,' he said, belatedly realising that he hadn't introduced himself, 'I'm James Potter.'

'Sirius,' the other boy grinned, 'I'd shake your hand, except I've never been one for the formalities.'

James was confused. He was about to ask why on earth Sirius would want to do such a silly, grown-up thing as shaking hands, when a far more pressing question sprang to mind.

'What's your Quidditch team?' he asked suddenly, realising that he had been sharing a compartment with the boy for nearly a few minutes now without asking the crucial question.

Sirius blinked, then chuckled a little.

'Blimey, you cut straight to the important things, don't you?'

James caught his eyes and grinned widely. The other boy leaned back, folded his arms and tossed a stray lock of hair out of his eyes with a single flick of his head. He didn't seem in any rush to give an answer.

'I've never really followed Quidditch,' he said at last, 'I mean, it's great and all that, but it's my brother that's really keen on it. It's sort of his thing. I never wanted to get in his way, you know?'

James didn't know. He was about to say as much when the compartment door slid open once again. A short boy with a very flushed face appeared into view, dragging behind him a trunk that was almost the same size as he was. Sirius stared at him for a second and was about to say something, but closed his mouth quickly as though he had thought better of it.

'Before you ask my permission,' James rolled his eyes, 'no, these seats aren't taken, and yes, you can sit down. I don't bite.'

The boy's shoulders relaxed as though a huge weight had been taken off of them.

'Thanks,' he muttered, his pink face turning pinker, 'all the other carriages were filled up.'

'Don't mention it,' James slid his trunk down from the seats to make room for him, 'I've just discovered that this one,' he grinned at Sirius 'doesn't follow Quidditch - imagine!'

The new boy's face lit up, revealing deep dimples in his plump cheeks.

'My aunt takes me to see the Caerphilly Catapults every summer,' he squeaked, his nerves forgotten, 'We were so happy when they got to the final last season. I tried to convince Mum to let me have one of those new Cleansweeps. She's never let me on a broom before.'

James winced, trying to imagine growing up without ever being allowed on a broomstick. He soon decided that it wasn't worth his effort. Flying was what James Potter was made for. Without it, he didn't think that his life would be worth living.

'Hard luck, mate,' he sighed wistfully, thinking longingly of his brand new Cleansweep Six tucked safely underneath his bed at home, 'It's a shame about that final, too. Your side had some decent players this time around, although,' and as he spoke his smirk filled his whole face, 'I think we can all agree that the best team won.'

Sirius stirred and narrowed his eyes at James.

'Why? Who won?'

'The Montrose Magpies,' James went all misty-eyed as he spoke, 'The best in the League.'

'Isn't that the team that's won more games than any of the others?' asked Sirius, mildly interested. James indulged himself with a look of triumphant glee as he realised that he was beginning to convert the other boy to his way of thinking. Before he could answer however, the pink-faced boy spoke up.

'I heard they've been struggling these past few years,' he babbled, too caught up in the wonder of Quidditch to notice that James' mood was quickly turning, 'everyone's saying that their glory days are over. My aunt-'

'Did you just insult my Quidditch team?' James asked, glaring at the pink-faced boy.

The pink-faced boy realised his mistake, and made hurried attempts to rectify the situation, but it was too late.

'No, not at all, I just-'

'Excuse me,' said a quiet voice.

Sirius almost jumped out of his seat in alarm, causing Lily in her corner to let out another little snort of laughter. James turned to see who had interrupted them. There was another boy of about his age standing awkwardly in the doorway, his hand resting gently on the sliding glass door. He was only a little taller than the pink-faced boy, but his hair was a fine curtain so pale that it was almost grey. His trunk was battered and peeling, held tightly together with finely knotted rope, and his thin jumper was threadbare, with patches neatly sewn on at the elbows. It seemed to James as though all of the colour had been wrung out of the boy, but then his hair shifted, and he caught a glimpse of his eyes underneath. They were a soft, nutty brown that shone in the same way as the handle of James' brand new Cleansweep.

'Er... hello,' the newcomer said timidly, 'I don't suppose that I could sit down?'


	2. The Hogwarts Express

**-** CHAPTER TWO-

 ** _The Hogwarts Express_**

Remus immediately regretted asking. The boy with the glasses rolled his eyes irritably at his question and threw his hands up in the air with exasperation. The boy with the long hair chuckled a little, and the small boy with the round face blinked mutely at him, as though he'd just asked a really stupid question. The red headed girl in the back of the compartment flashed a quick glance in his direction, but said nothing.

'Sorry,' he muttered, trying to ignore the heat creeping up his neck, 'my mistake. I'll just-'

'Why are you all asking my permission?' the boy with the glasses sighed exasperatedly, 'Of course you can sit down. It's not as if it's my train, is it?'

Remus stared at him, then looked away quickly. It wasn't fair of him to just barge in with the rest of them when he was clearly an outsider. He should probably just thank them and try and find an empty compartment...

'Here,' the boy with the glasses said, grabbing Remus' trunk from his hands and lifting it into the luggage racks as though it were no heavier than a broomstick, 'You can barely move in here with all these trunks all over the floor. I don't suppose you want to grab the others?' he threw a glance over his shoulder at the boy with the long hair, who began wrestling his own bag onto the racks.

'So I can sit here?' Remus muttered, watching as the boy with the glasses hefted the next trunk over his head, 'I mean, none of you mind?'

'Course not,' the boy with the glasses shrugged, 'well, she might, but she's not exactly the chatty type, so you should be okay, you know.' He smiled broadly at the red-haired girl, who was staring out of the window with a glazed look that told Remus that she wasn't really interested in looking at the scenery.

'Is she okay?' he asked in an undertone, not wanting to pry, but feeling a pang of concern as he noticed her puffy green eyes and the tear channels on her cheeks.

'No idea,' the boy with the glasses sighed, 'I did ask, but she told me to sod off, so I guess it's none of my business.'

There was a crash that made Remus almost jump out of his skin. He whirled around to see the long-haired boy jumping up and down, cursing, and Remus noted the enormous trunk lying awkwardly on the floor at his feet.

'You all right, mate?' the boy with the glasses asked, looking amused.

'Bloody thing weighs a ton!' the boy with the long hair swore, his grey eyes narrowed in pain as he clutched at his toes. He sank down back into his seat, massaging his foot, but quickly stopped when he noticed that everyone was staring at him.

'It's bloody heavy!' he frowned, glaring at them as though defending himself, 'it's not as if I dropped in on purpose!'

'Cause not,' the boy with the glasses blinked, as though confused but his friend's reaction, 'It's his trunk,' he nodded at the round-faced boy, who jumped a little as he was mentioned, 'what have you got in there?'

'Not much...' he squeaked, 'Just the usual things.'

'Have you tried an extension charm?' the boy with the glasses asked, and to Remus' surprise he reached up the sleeve of his scarlet jumper and pulled out a magnificent wand of gleaming red-brown wood.

'Don't they already have them?' the long-haired boy asked, looking suddenly interested at the appearance of the wand.

'Well, yeah,' the boy with the glasses shrugged, 'but they could always do with extending a bit more.'

He raised his wand. All eyes were fixed on him: pale grey, watery blue, even the red headed girl's emerald ones. The boy with the glasses grinned nervously at the attention, and rolled up his sleeves.

'Don't,' Remus croaked, his voice suddenly hoarse, 'that's illegal.'

But he was too late. The boy with the glasses had waved his wand and cried:

'Capacious extremis!'

A jet of sparks flew from the end of his wand and collided with the trunk, causing it to shake a little before becoming once again completely still.

'Did it work?' the round-faced boy asked eagerly, looking in awe at the trunk as though it were made of solid gold.

'Open it,' the boy with the glasses said smugly, stowing his wand carefully back up his sleeve with a rather self-satisfied air.

The round-faced boy opened the trunk with trembling fingers. It was packed tightly with clothes and books and packets of sweets, but as far as Remus could tell there had been absolutely no change in the trunk's capacity whatsoever. The red-haired girl and the boy with the long hair both burst out laughing, and it was the boy with the glasses' turn to flush red in embarrassment.

'Well,' he sighed, trying to regain his dignity, 'It's probably just as well. Like he said, expansion charms are technically in breach of the Statute of Secrecy.'

The boy with the glasses looked up at Remus, and flashed him a quick grin.

'I'm James, by the way. This is Sirius,' the long-haired boy recovered from his laughing fit enough to lift a hand in greeting, 'that over there is Lily,' he pointed at the red-haired girl in the window, then frowned at the round-faced boy, who was desperately trying to squash his belongings back into his trunk, 'I don't think that I got his name.'

The round-faced boy blinked, looked around, realised that he was being addressed, and smiled shyly.

'Peter Pettigrew,' he said proudly, 'I'm Peter Pettigrew.'

'Remus Lupin. Pleasure to meet you all,' Remus muttered, and curled up onto the cushioned bench. He flinched a little as he realized that the boy with the long hair, Sirius, was looking at him with a gleam in his eyes.

'So,' he grinned, rolling his eyes at the boy with the glasses, 'I don't suppose you care to tell James here what you're Quidditch team is? It's sort of a big deal for him.'

Remus felt his heart sink.

'I... I don't really follow it,' he muttered, busying himself with picking at a patch on his jeans, 'I've never had the time. Sorry.'

James sighed melodramatically.

'Amateurs,' he held a hand to his forehead as though consoling himself, 'I'm surrounded by amateurs.' He cast a glance sharply at Lily, who was ignoring them all once more and continuing to stare raptly out at the countryside. 'I don't suppose that you have a Quidditch team?'

She gave a disgruntled noise that was clearly a negative affirmation.

'I didn't think so,' James rolled his eyes, 'ah well. We can't all be perfect.'

Sirius was looking at Remus again, making him feel rather uncomfortable. There was something about the other boy that Remus that put him on edge. Perhaps it was his steely grey eyes which looked at Remus as though he were a problem that the other boy wanted to solve.

'Are you alright?' Sirius asked slowly, watching Remus intently from underneath his curtain of long, smooth, black hair, 'He's just messing around, you know. Not that Quidditch isn't very important,' he grinned at James, 'but it isn't everything.'

Remus shrugged, searching for an excuse that would explain his unease and desperately wishing that they would all just leave him alone.

'I'm just a bit nervous,' he said quickly, 'I've never really spent much time away from home before. There's a lot to think about.'

'I suppose so,' James said nonchalantly, 'I've never really thought about it like that - it's all so exciting, isn't it? How about you, Pete? You look just as frightened as Remus does!'

Peter flushed even pinker as he spoke. James was right. He did look almost as nervous as Remus felt. Almost.

'It's not going to be that bad, is it?' he glanced worriedly around at them, 'Everyone's told me that I'll have a really good time, so I guess that we'll all just forget about home after a while, and... and it will all be okay.'

Remus wasn't all that sure that he wanted to forget about home. He didn't want to think about how it would be four whole months before he could return to his parents: he missed his father, with his hearty laughter and dodgy spells that never failed to make Remus smile; he already wanted to see his mother again, with her muggle dresses and sweeping hugs and bright eyes that always made told Remus that everything was going to be okay. They might not be rich and they might not be normal, but they were family. Without them, Remus was convinced that he wouldn't last the month. Actually, he was fairly certain that he wouldn't even survive until Sunday...

Remus shuddered a little. He took a deep breath and pulled his sleeves further down so that his whole hands were covered in the oversized sweater. Next to him, James had pulled out his wand once again and was now exhibiting it proudly.

'Mahogany and phoenix feather,' he was saying to Sirius, 'Eleven inches and pliable. Mr. Olivander was disappointed by how quickly we found it. Dad told me that he likes tricky customers.'

'Then he will have been delighted with me,' the other boy said in a would-be casual tone that Remus didn't miss, 'It took him an hour to find me a match. Mother wasn't too pleased.'

Apparently James didn't notice Sirius' sudden cold tone. Instead he grinned and asked 'So what wand did you end up with?'

Sirius drew out his wand carefully from the deep pockets of his trousers. In the sunlight the wood gleamed as though it was made of onyx. He held it up as carefully as if it were glass, and grinned slightly at the obviously impressed look on James' face.

'Ebony and dragon heart-string. It's ten and three-quarter inches. Apparently it's good for transfiguration.'

'Mine too,' said James, pushing back his hair and trying to twirl his wand through his fingers, 'but it depends on the wizard, doesn't it?'

Remus privately wondered what either of the pair of them knew about wand law. His father had told him it was a difficult thing to study and each wand-maker had their own opinions on different woods and cores. He said nothing, though, because at that moment Peter stood up to get his own wand from his trunk, and as he touched it the tip lit up and shot a fine cloud of purple smoke straight at Lily in the far corner of the compartment. James let out a roar of laughter as Peter apologised profusely.

'I - I didn't do anything,' he stammered, 'I swear it! It's done that a couple of times, I think it's just accident prone...'

'Ah, but the wand chooses the wizard,' James chuckled, 'wands act depending on their owners, so if your wand is a spaz then that's your fault.'

Remus was watching Lily, who had got a mouthful of purple smoke and was spluttering. Tears had returned to her eyes.

'Are you okay?' he asked, not wanting to draw attention to himself but feeling bad for the girl, who was obviously very upset about something, 'I'm sure he didn't mean-'

'Oh leave me alone, all of you!' Lily snapped, and Remus was surprised to hear her speak, 'Can't you all just leave me in peace? I didn't ask to be stuck in here with you!'

'Actually, you did,' James said evenly, 'You asked me if the window seat was taken and I-'

'It was the only place that wasn't taken,' the girl said in acid tones, 'Didn't you hear me? I want to be left alone.'

'Fine,' James held up his hands, 'If you can't take the odd joke then I'm not sure what the point is in talking to you anyway.'

Lily glared at him.

* * *

The new boy fascinated Sirius. He didn't think that he could ever remember seeing anyone half as beat-up and shabby in his whole life. As James, to Peter's delight, suggested that someone find a pack of Exploding Snap, Sirius took the opportunity to watch Remus out of the corner of his eye. After the red-haired girl's outburst, the boy had slowly got to his feet, opened his trunk and pulled out a book so tattered that Sirius couldn't make out the title which had once been etched into the cover and was now utterly illegible. He currently appeared to be engrossed in it, having not said a word for five minutes, but Sirius hadn't yet seen him turn a single page.

'You playing, Sirius?' James asked, deftly shuffling the pack he had taken from Peter and raising an eyebrow at him.

Sirius shook his head, trying to hide his confusion. Exploding Snap? He honestly couldn't remember the last time that he had played it. It was a kid's game. He'd used to play similar games with Regulus when they were young, but that had been years ago. He was fairly certain that the Black family hadn't even owned so much as a set of Gobstones in well over five years.

Sirius had somehow lost interest in playing games; he supposed that it was probably something to do with the fact that after his fifth birthday his relatives insisted on buying him books and sheet music instead of playing cards and model trains. Last year, though, Andromeda had sent Sirius a set of model Quidditch players that were enchanted to fly around the room picking up whatever they could carry and throwing things at each other. He had thought they were hilarious, but when a chaser snatched Orion's pocket watch out of his hand and launched it at a window, his father had insisted that they had to go.

That was what it came down to, Sirius supposed as the first card exploded. His father had never seemed to approve of games, which had always struck Sirius as rather odd. He'd once said as much, but as always happened when he made a comment or asked a question, his parents had scowled at him and locked him in his room. It hadn't been that bad though: Reg had come to see him and let him borrow his Quidditch magazine.

Somehow, Reg never got locked in his room. Sirius supposed that it was because he never asked awkward questions or said things he wasn't supposed to. There were times when Sirius was jealous of that. It wasn't his fault. When he thought something, it just came out. He couldn't help what he said any more than he could help the fact that he was left handed or that he didn't like eating sprouts - not that Orion and Walburga had much tolerance for either of those, anyway.

Damn, Sirius thought, it felt refreshing to be able to lean back in his seat without being shouted at. He couldn't help but feel a little excited that it would be a whole three months before he had to worry about chewing too loudly or slouching when he stood.

Sirius started as he saw James looking at him expectantly. Clearly a question had been posed that he had missed.

'Hmm?' he asked, noticing Peter's smoking eyebrows and realising that he hadn't noticed them get burned, 'Sorry - must have dozed off. Did you want something?'

James snorted.

'I was just asking you all if you were hungry, but if you'd rather just stare into space-'

'I'm alright, thanks,' Sirius lied, thinking of the breakfast that he hadn't touched. 'There should be a food trolley coming around at lunchtime, but that's ages away.'

'Hardly,' said James, getting up and reaching into his trunk, 'It's almost twelve already. I'm famished. Liquorice Wand, Peter?'

Sirius gaped. James' trunk was overflowing with packets upon brightly coloured packets of sweets. He could see Cauldron Cakes, Sugar Quills, Chocolate Frogs and more boxes of Bertie Bott's Every-Flavour Beans than he had ever seen in his life.

'Blimey,' he spluttered, 'you could give yourself a heart attack just looking at all that sugar.'

James shrugged, tearing the paper off of a pack of Droobles Best Blowing Gum.

'It's not all for now. First years aren't allowed to visit Hogsmead or anything, so Mum got me enough food to keep me going until they can send some more. Droobles, Remus?'

Remus stopped pretending to read and looked up.

'No thank you,' he muttered, 'I've got my own lunch.'

'Suit yourself,' James shrugged, and settled back down onto the seat, 'I suppose it's more for us. Another game Peter?'

Peter began dealing out the cards as James had done, only a little faster and more tidily, as though he had practised it many times before.

'I love exploding snap,' he sighed happily, 'Mum and I play it all the time at home. She taught me how to play when I was little, so now I'm really good at-'

A loud bang and a flash of white light made Sirius jump into the air. Smoke was billowing in great grey clouds from the seat to his left. The entire pack had spontaneously combusted in Peter's hands. James was so beside himself at the sight of Peter's scorched face that he almost fell out of his seat. Sirius couldn't help but shake with laughter himself at the look of bemusement on the other boy's face and at the way the tips of his hair were shrivelling up in the heat. Remus was trying hard not to chuckle, but Sirius could see quite clearly that he was shaking with suppressed laughter.

'Here,' Sirius said when he had recovered, and he pulled out his wand and concentrated hard, 'Tergeo,' he muttered.

Nothing happened. Feeling foolish, Sirius tried again. It was a simple enough spell, his mother used it all the time when she saw grime on Sirius' shoes or on the corner of her clean tablecloth. He'd never tried it before, but he had managed other spells that were a little harder.

He flicked his wand, and he soot vanished from Peter's filthy skin, returning his plump face to its usual pink colour. Pleased with himself, Sirius slid the ebony wand back into his pocket, and looked up to see Peter staring at him in awe.

'Thank you,' he said breathlessly, 'that was amazing!'

'Don't mention it,' Sirius grinned.

James was still chuckling as he tucked into a Chocolate Frog.

'Sure that you don't want one?'

Sirius did want one, but once again he shook his head. The food trolley would be coming around in a minute, and he would buy his own Chocolate Frogs then. He didn't want it to look like he couldn't do things for himself.

At that moment, the compartment door slid open once again. Sirius looked up briefly, and saw that it was another boy of his age, with long greasy hair and a long, pale, hooked nose. His eyes were shadowed, his cheeks were sallow, and his billowing Hogwarts robes did not quite fit him. There was something in his black eyes that made Sirius shudder. He was reminded inexplicably of his own father.

Luckily the boy paid them no attention. He moved quickly past without so much as a glance and sat down opposite the red-haired girl, whose face was pressed tightly to the window pane. James didn't appear to even notice the boy. He munched happily on his Chocolate Frog and dangled another in front of Remus' nose.

'Chocolate, Remus?'

'I'm alright,' he blushed, not taking his eyes off his book, 'I'm not hungry.'

'Liar,' James teased, 'you look as though you haven't eaten in months. It's okay, you can eat it, I don't mind.'

'Really, I'm fine,' the boy muttered, and Sirius noticed for the first time that along his left jaw there ran a series of pale lines that were so old they were practically invisible, but were unmistakably scars, 'I just want to read if that's okay.'

James shrugged.

'Fine by me. What are you reading?'

It occurred suddenly to Sirius that James hadn't noticed the way that Remus was squirming in his seat, or indeed that he had made absolutely no progress in his book in the last ten minutes. Sirius quickly debated whether or not he should say something, but was saved from making a decision by an outburst from James himself.

'Slytherin?' he snorted incredulously, turning at something that the hooked nosed boy that now shared their compartment had said, 'Who wants to be in Slytherin? I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?'

He turned and grinned at Sirius, waiting for him to agree. A cold shiver ran down Sirius' spine as he failed to grin back.

Both of his parents had been in Slytherin. Their parents before them had been as well, and as far as Sirius could tell, his whole family going back generations had all been sorted the same way. Orion and Walburga hadn't said anything, but their shared assumption had been all too evident to Sirius - his parents expected him to follow in their footsteps and uphold the noble name of Black. They'd even gone so far as to buy him a new Slytherin scarf. He'd found it draped over the end of his bed one morning, and had felt the same sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach that he always felt when he thought about the sorting ceremony.

In final weeks of August, he'd begun to have nightmares that always started with him being sorted into Hufflepuff, and ended with his family locking him in the cellar with a cage full of poisonous snakes. He'd spent most of his time after that trying not to think about it, although his attempts had been far from successful.

'My whole family have been in Slytherin,' he said, forcing himself not to lose eye contact.

He half expected James to turn on him, as he had done earlier when Peter had said bad things about the Montrose Magpies, but to his surprise the other boy kept on beaming at him.

'Blimey,' James shook his head, 'and I thought you were alright!'

Sirius' insides writhed at the comment, but he kept his calm and shrugged at James, painfully reminded of how the other boy had acted when Peter had insulted his Quidditch team. He didn't want to provoke a response like that, not when he was just starting to like James.

'Maybe I'll break the tradition,' he grinned, although inside he was dreading what would happen if the Sorting Hat decided to do just that, 'Where are you headed, if you've got the choice?' He thought that he could guess the answer.

' 'Gryffindor,' ' Sirius' suspicions were confirmed as the other boy pretended to raise a sword up to his shoulder, ' 'where dwell the brave at heart!' Like my dad.'

Lily looked vaguely interested, but her hook-nosed friend snorted. As Sirius turned to look at him, he realised what it was in the boy's black eyes that reminded him so starkly of his own father: contempt.

'Got a problem with that?' James asked, furious.

'No,' the hook-nosed boy said, though his sneer quite clearly said otherwise, 'If you'd rather be brawny than brainy...'

Sirius snapped. There was just something in the hooked-nosed boy's demeanour that made him angry. Maybe it was his leering tone, or the disparaging way that he was looking at James, but Sirius couldn't help but think about the time that his father had tried to teach him the levitation charm. When Sirius had failed, Orion had worn exactly the same snide expression that the hooked-nosed boy now wore. At the time, Sirius had been unable to say anything to defend himself, but now, free from his father's short temper, there was nothing holding him back. On impulse, he spat derisively across the compartment.

'Where are you hoping to go,' he scoffed at him, 'seeing as you're neither?'

For a second he wished he hadn't said it – the look of outrage on the hook-nosed boy's face gave him pause. Making enemies of fellow Slytherins before they even got there was bound to end badly. But then caught sight of the look on James' face as he clutched his stomach laughing, and Sirius let himself believe that that would make up for whatever consequences there would be for his insolence.

Lily stood up, her face almost the same colour as her hair. She glared angrily at James and Sirius and nodded at the door.

'Come on Severus,' she said haughtily, still glaring at the pair of them and ignoring Remus and Peter completely, 'let's find another compartment.'

James caught Sirius' eye, and somehow Sirius knew exactly what James was thinking.

'Oooooo...' James jeered, and Sirius joined in. He couldn't help but find Lily's superior tones incredibly funny, especially when she had been so angry at them earlier. She grabbed her trunk and stormed out of the compartment, her friend Severus gliding creepily behind her in his oversized robes. Peter was staring at them with a mixture of confusion and apprehension on his pink face, but the second that the hook-nosed boy's back was turned, he somehow found the courage to call out after him.

'See ya, Snivellus!' he squeaked, just as the door slammed.

'Snivellus?' James blinked, then fell about laughing all over again, pointing at Peter.

'What?' Peter asked nervously, 'what is it? What did I do?'

'Severus,' Remus sighed in his corner, 'His name was Severus, not Snivellus.'

James continued to roll around on his seat, clutching his sides and gasping for breath.

'Oh,' Peter blushed, 'I thought-'

'Never mind,' Sirius grinned, 'It sort of suits him, don't you think?'

'Definitely,' James chuckled, reaching for a Cauldron Cake, 'Are you guys sure that you don't want anything to eat?'

At that moment, a short, plump witch pushing a trolley piled high with sweets and sandwiches appeared through the compartment door.

'Anything off the trolley, dears?' she asked kindly.

Sirius paused for a moment, then looked at enormous pile of food on James' seat, and the accompanying broad smile. Suddenly, maintaining his pride didn't seem quite as important as it had done a few minutes ago.

'No thanks,' he told the witch, 'I think we have enough here to go around.'

* * *

 **Disclaimer: (counts for previous chapter and the whole fic FYI) - I don't own anything. Not even all the words are mine - it's literally copied from/as close to canon as possible. So please don't sue me.**


	3. Sorting

**-** CHAPTER THREE-

 _ **Sorting**_

Peter's eyebrows still stung a bit and he could still smell soot on his robes, but for the first time since he received his letter he felt that here was a place that he might fit in. He couldn't help but feel a little tug of excitement in the pit of his stomach, sitting there playing exploding snap and eating James' sweets and talking a bit about some of the Quidditch games that he had been to see with his aunt, although he was very careful not to say anything bad about the Montrose Magpies again. After the red-haired girl and her friend had left the compartment, though, it appeared that a tension had been lifted and Sirius and James spent the whole journey finding small things to laugh about, while Peter joined in and Remus tried not to smile.

It was all over far too soon, though. Surrounded by friendly faces, Peter had almost let himself forget what was ahead of him – the Sorting Ceremony. He had begged his aunt for the details of the process before he left, but she had only grinned at him and told him that it would be a surprise. As the train slowed to a halt and a tiny streak of panic reappeared in Peter's stomach, he decided that he wasn't all that keen on surprises.

'Do you know how we get sorted?' he asked James, who had left changing into his robes to the last minute and was busy pulling them on. It was Sirius who answered.

'The Hat decides,' was all he said.

'The hat?'

'The Sorting Hat,' James mumbled from beneath a pile of black fabric – he was having difficulty fitting his arms into the sleeves, 'It's an enchanted hat that chooses which house we end up in.'

'But… don't we get a say in it?' The panic was definitely growing again in Peter's stomach. He wasn't smart enough to be Ravenclaw, or brave enough to be Gryffindor. He hated the idea of being made a Hufflepuff – he didn't need to give people another excuse to make fun of him, and the thought of being sorted into Slytherin scared him more than he wanted to admit.

'No,' said Sirius shortly, pulling down James' robes for him and opening the compartment door, 'the hat's decision is final. There are no second chances.'

'Come on,' James said, following Sirius out into the corridor, 'we leave all of our stuff here. You're going to need to put that book down for long enough to be sorted, Remus,' he nodded at the boy, 'If you're not careful you'll end up in Ravenclaw,' he tugged at his fringe, 'not that Ravenclaw would be too bad, I suppose.'

Remus flushed, stored his book carefully in his robes, and tip-toed after James. Peter dashed after him, nervous. They hadn't spoken any more about the Sorting after the girl and her friend had left, but Peter didn't like the idea of no second chances. It sounded terrifying; he wasn't sure that he was ready for that.

The platform was so dark that he couldn't make out anything other than a mass of people all pressed into one place. He desperately tried to keep sight of James' hat disappearing into the darkness, but it was a difficult task.

'Firs'-years over 'ere!' called a voice. Peter could make out the dim light of a lantern at one end of the platform and made desperately towards it.

'Firs'-years! Firs'-years this way!' Peter made out a face in the pale lamp light – a huge broad face covered with thick dark hair that stood head and shoulders above the students' tall, pointed hats. He tried as hard as he could to force his way towards it with the other first years, but there were just too many people, he couldn't get past all of them…

A gigantic hand reached through the sea of bodies and grabbed the back of his robes. Peter was pulled straight through the other students and found himself in a huddle with James and the others.

'You alright there?' the owner of the hand asked. His face was broad and hairy, but smiled at Peter in an oddly kind way, 'We got everyone? All right then, firs'-years, yer all followin' me now.'

Peter trailed after him with the rest of them, all of whom needed to run to keep up with the huge man's enormous strides. Peter spotted the odd face in the crowd that he recognised from the train – the red-haired girl and her dark friend were whispering in excited voices to each other, and the blonde and her friend, who had changed out of her dungarees and into the same sweeping robes as the rest of them, were giggling nervously. The man with the lamp led them down from the platform, and onto a track surrounded by dense trees.

'Is this the Forbidden Forest?' Peter gasped, shuddering a little at the thought, but Remus, who was next to him, shook his head.

'I don't think so.' he whispered in a faint voice, 'Look, the trees are thinning.'

He was right. Only a little way away Peter could see something shining beyond the thin black tree trunks.

'It's the Lake!' James grinned, dashing forward to get a closer look, and he was right. The crowd of first years turned a bend in the path and spread out onto a bank of smooth grass which sloped down to a broad basin of silver water. It wasn't the lake that held Peter's attention, though. It was the sight that lay beyond that made him stop dead in his tracks. On the far bank, high on a hilltop, lay a many turreted castle, with pointed spires and lights flickering in the windows. Peter couldn't tear his eyes away as the enormous man with the lamp beamed down at their stunned faces.

'Yeah,' he grinned, 'That'd be Hogwarts. Come on, now. No more'n four to a boat.'

The man led them down the bank to the shore of the lake, where there lay a fleet of twenty or so boats bobbing around on the glassy lake surface. In front of Peter, James was practically bouncing around in excitement.

'You know there's a giant squid in the lake?' he said loudly, so that a couple of faces turned towards him in interest.

Sirius snorted.

'It's not all _that_ exciting, you know,' he shrugged, stepping into one of the boats with footing as steady as if he were dry land, 'It's practically domesticated - not at all dangerous.'

'Who cares?' James leaped after him and dipped his finger experimentally into the inky black water, 'It's still a Giant Squid – how ace is that? Are you guys coming?'

Peter plodded down the bank after them, almost slipping over as he reached the shallows, but he was caught by Remus' steady hand on his elbow.

'Watch yourself,' the other boy muttered to Peter, then climbed carefully into the boat and helped Peter breathlessly scramble in after him.

The giant with the lantern checked over his shoulder to make sure that all of the first years had made it into a boat, and then he called out in a booming voice, 'All right, FORWARD.'

The boats set out, gliding smoothly over the lake. Even James seemed to be lost for words as the silhouette of the castle on the cliff grew serenely closer and closer and the fleet of boats swept across the moonlit waters. Even with the knot of anxiety in his stomach, Peter couldn't help but feel just a little excited. He'd never been anywhere like this in his life, and he could tell from the looks on the others' faces that he wasn't the only one. James' eyes were wide and there was a lopsided grin of uncontrollable delight spread all over his face. Remus too was smiling; a smaller, more hopeful smile. Sirius sat with his arms at his side and his lips pressed tightly together, and looked rather like Peter felt – elated, but terrified.

As the fleet of boats approached the foot of the cliff, Peter tried desperately to crane his neck to catch one last glimpse of the castle, but Remus beside him put a hand on his head and pushed him down. He just had time to register the fact that James and Sirius were also crouching down before the fleet crashed straight into the cliff. Peter gasped. There hadn't been an impact. As Remus' hand left the back of Peter's neck, he spun around to try and see what had happened. The boats had entered into a wide tunnel in the cliff face, hidden from outside by a thick curtain of ivy, which Peter had missed in the darkness. The giant, who was so large that he took up a whole boat all by himself, chuckled at the alarmed look on Peter's face.

'You ought to be payin' a bit more attention, there,' he grinned, but not unkindly. 'There's an awful lot more at Hogwarts to confuse and enchant ye than just a bit o' ivy.'

Peter tried to say thank you, but all that came out was a sharp squeal. His heart was racing.

* * *

Sirius tried as hard as he could to keep a neutral expression as he made his way from the harbour along the damp stone passage with the rest of the first-years, but it was difficult. Sirius made valiant attempts to return all of James' excited grins, but the writhing in his stomach made it almost impossible to do anything that wasn't wanting to run as fast as he could in the opposite direction. He couldn't do that, though. He's die before he'd face the shame of running away, that much he was sure of.

The passage emerged onto a smooth lawn of well-kept grass. Towering over them was the looming shape of the stone castle, black in the darkness but with every window flickering with a golden light. The giant glanced behind him to check that they were all still there, and then knocked loudly and clearly on the castle door. It swung open almost instantly, and silhouetted against the dazzling light Sirius could make out a tall woman with black hair. Although she was clearly not yet middle-aged, underneath her hat, her hair was held tightly back in a neat bun and her face was rather tight and severe.

'Thank you, Hagrid,' she pursed her lips, 'I can manage from here.'

The giant named Hagrid grinned enthusiastically down at the huddle of first-years, waved cheerily, and disappeared into the castle. The witch pulled open the doors and led them all up the steps and into a huge hall. Sirius took in the wide marble staircase and glittering torches that hung on the walls all the way up to the cavernous ceiling, and decided that as impressive as the castle was from the outside, the inside was undoubtedly just as grand. They were swept through a small door on the right of the hall and into a tiny, cramped chamber with the same flagged stones at the Entrance Hall. James caught Sirius' eye and winked as the pair of them were pushed together in the confined space, but Sirius couldn't bring himself to wink back. He occupied himself by looking for the other boys from his compartment, neither of whom shared James' enthusiasm. Peter, for once, looked rather pale, and Remus was busy examining his own shoes. Sirius hoped that he didn't look as obviously nervous as they were.

'Welcome,' said the witch, filing in behind them and closing the door, 'to Hogwarts. My name is Professor McGonagall. You will be formally welcomed by the Headmaster at the start of term banquet, which will begin as soon as each of you have been sorted and taken your seats in the Great Hall.' Sirius' gut clenched painfully at these words. He was finding it difficult to breathe. 'The Sorting,' Professor McGonagall continued, 'is of vital importance,' (You don't need to tell _me_ that, Sirius thought hazily,) 'as while you remain at Hogwarts your house will become your family. You will spend classes, free time, and mealtimes all in the company of your fellow house mates. Points are awarded to each house throughout the year for the triumphs of individual students, and points are deducted for rule breaking. The house with the most points at the end of the year is awarded the House Cup: an honour.

'The four houses are Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin. Each house has its own unique and noble history and has produced exceptional wizards and witches. I hope that each of you who stand here today will become a credit to whichever you join. Wait for me here.'

And with that she left. Sirius didn't seem to be able to breathe. His heart was pounding so loudly that it was a wonder that everyone else didn't hear it.

Let it be Slytherin, he thought over and over again, please, just let it be Slytherin. But then he remembered what James had said on the train, and wondered what the other boy would think of him if he was sorted into the house that he hated. Sirius looked at James, who was wiping his glasses on his shirt and didn't notice him. For a moment, Sirius let himself wonder if he would feel differently if his family hadn't all been in Slytherin. Would he still have that nervous tingling in his stomach, or would he, like James, be confident in where his future lay?

* * *

James' blood was pumping around his body at an unusually fast rate. The second that McGonagall had left, a buzz of chatter broke out among the students. There were about a hundred of them, James guessed, give or take a few dozen. He remembered something that his father had said about there being around twenty new students in each house per year, and wondered which of the faces now in front of him he would be sharing a dormitory with. He glanced at them all, spotting the odd familiar face among the crowd, including the crying girl and her dark friend, who were whispering to each other and looking pale. Remus and Peter were standing near to them, on the opposite side of the chamber to where James and Sirius stood, pressed against the wall. James caught Remus' eye. He had to stand on tiptoes to see properly over the heads of the other students.

'So,' he called across the room, 'what do you think? _Are_ you headed for Ravenclaw?'

Remus shrugged, but the corner of his mouth twitched nervously, and James could still see the outline of his book tucked neatly into the pocket of his robes. Peter was blinking gloomily.

'I don't know where I'm going to end up,' Peter said morosely, 'It's not as if I'm brave or clever or any of it.'

'You got that right,' muttered a voice. It was the dark boy - Severus. James remembered how he had sneered at the mention of Gryffindor, and couldn't help but feel a flicker of anger as he saw the crushed look on Peter's face.

'Oi!' he shouted, taking a step forwards towards the other boy, his fists clenched, 'Leave him alone, _Snivillus_. At least Peter looks like he owns some soap!'

There was a ripple of laughter from the other students, and the boy's ears went ever so slightly pink. His red-headed friend looked as though she wanted to say something, but she was stopped as another voice spoke up.

'Don't be an idiot,' the speaker was a tall girl with long pale hair and a furrowed expression, 'you'll find somewhere to fit in. It's the Sorting, not the end of the world.'

She was speaking directly to Peter, whose mouth was hanging open.

'Thanks,' he muttered, breathlessly.

'Marlene,' the girl stuck out her hand, and Peter shook it, a little too enthusiastically, 'Marlene McKinnon. Peter, right? I saw you on the train.'

Peter nodded, but before he could think of something to say the girl had turned her attention towards James.

'You're James Potter,' she said. It wasn't a question.

'How do you-'

'I know your mum,' Marlene explained conversationally, apparently unaware that most of the other students were staring at her, 'I was in St Mungo's for a bit last year, and she talked about you all the time.'

'She did?' James felt that he could tell from the smug look on the girl's face _exactly_ which embarrassing stories his mother had brought up in conversation, but thankfully he was saved by Sirius, who was leaning casually against the wall behind him.

'Why were you in St Mungo's?' he frowned, looking curious.

'That,' the girl replied coolly, 'is none of your business.'

At that moment, Professor McGonagall returned, and all chatter in the chamber stopped abruptly.

'Form a line,' she said curtly, as though guessing the tone of their conversation, 'I will escort you now to the Great Hall. Some of you may wish to smarten up a little before we proceed.'

Her stern glare fixed on James' hair as though she expected him to do something about it. For the first time, James' stomach did a nervous flip and he ran his hand through his hair as though flattening it, although it was only a token gesture. Despite his parents' best efforts, not even his father's hair potions could make James hair lie flat if it didn't want to. He cast an envious glance at Sirius smooth, dark hair, which Sirius tidied in one effortless movement. Marlene was still watching him out of the corner of her eye.

* * *

Professor McGonagall led the way back across the Entrance Hall in sweeping emerald robes. Unlike Peter, who seemed to be having difficulty in keeping up with the others, Remus followed her without complaint. All around him the first years buzzed with nervous chatter, but he couldn't bring himself to speak. His brain was doing some sort of nervous dance, constantly jumping from excited to terrified and back again.

Professor McGonagall's wand suddenly appeared in her hand, and with a swift flick of her wrist, the set of doors to the left opened smoothly. Remus wasn't the only one who gasped: he could see the heads in the line in front of him craning up get a better look at what lay beyond. In single file, McGonagall ushered them one by one through the doors and into the Great Hall, which like the entrance hall was made of magnificent stone and illuminated by the soft flickering of flame. But it wasn't torches this time: hundreds upon hundreds of candles floated eerily in mid-air, their pale glow stark against the inky black of the ceiling, which, Remus realised, was exactly the same colour as the sky outside. It even had dark wisps of cloud drifting lazily across it, and the odd star peeping shyly down through the candles.

There were also people – hundreds of them. It was like walking through a forest made entirely of black wizard hats. Remus felt his hands trembling in his sleeves, and hurriedly curled them into fists. He didn't want people to see how scared he was, not when every eye in the hall was fixed on the first years.

They had reached the front of the hall. Remus looked up to face the top table, running perpendicular to all the others, where an assortment of older witches and wizards sat, each displaying various degrees of interest. Some of them were smiling jovially down at the new first years, but Remus' eyes were drawn instantly to the man sitting exactly in the middle of the table. With his masses of gleaming white hair and shimmering scarlet robes, Remus couldn't help but be reminded of Father Christmas. Despite himself, the thought made him smile slightly, and as Albus Dumbledore caught his eye and winked, Remus began to feel a little better. Even as Professor McGonagall motioned for them to turn around and face the older students, he was almost sure he could feel the comforting force of the headmaster's gaze, and he felt braver.

Professor McGonagall waved her wand again, and out of nowhere appeared a rather shabby looking stool, and an even shabbier looking bundle of brown fabric. As McGonagall placed it on the stool between the first years and the rest of the hall, it twitched, and Remus realised suddenly what it was he was looking at. It wasn't a bundle at all – _it was the hat_. A gaping hole emerged from the folds near the brim, and Remus watched in amazement as the hat straightened up, _coughed_ , and began to sing. He took the opportunity to steal a glance at the others: Sirius' mouth hung slightly open, James looked as though he wasn't sure if he should laugh or not. Peter still looked terrified.

 _I welcome you on this fine night!_

 _I won't keep you in suspense._

 _I am here to sort you all,_

 _And soon I shall commence._

 _If you're sorted 'Gryffindor!'_

 _You'll know you're ruled by heart._

 _Your daring deeds and gallant ways_

 _Are what set you apart._

 _If I sort you 'Ravenclaw!'_

 _Then logic is your guide._

 _Puzzles, tasks and challenges_

 _Are taken in your stride._

 _To Slytherins the greatest thing_

 _Is personal success._

 _To everything they set their minds_

 _They finish with finesse._

 _Hufflepuffs care not for brains,_

 _Nor brave and cunning quests._

 _It is a person's attitude_

 _That marks them from the rest._

 _I know you think 'How could a hat_

 _See what is on my mind?'_

 _I'll tell you now. My history_

 _Speaks for itself you'll find._

 _Back when the school was newly formed_

 _By wise old Ravenclaw_

 _With Slytherin and Hufflepuff_

 _And daring Gryffindor,_

 _It was their task to split each year_

 _Which first worked brilliantly._

 _Eventually they found a flaw-_

 _I'm sure you'll plainly see:_

 _For how on earth could Gryffindor_

 _Select those who were brave_

 _Or Ravenclaw those with sharp minds_

 _From beyond lonely grave?_

 _Proud Slytherin was adamant_

 _None would choose in his stead._

 _Hufflepuff thought substitutes_

 _Would quickly be misled._

 _And so it was that I was plucked_

 _From head of Gryffindor,_

 _And it's my job to sort you all_

 _Now they can choose no more._

 _Try me on! Let me decide_

 _Which house will suit you best._

 _Are you bold or wise or shrewd_

 _Or loyal? That's the test!_

* * *

The hat stopped singing. Applause erupted from every table in the hall, with none clapping louder than the man in red who was seated directly behind him at the high table – he couldn't be certain, but Sirius would have wagered his inheritance that the man was Albus Dumbledore. There wasn't anyone else that it could be.

Strangely enough, Sirius didn't seem to be able to hear anything – not the clapping, not Professor McGonagall explaining what to do when she called your name. His ears had mysteriously stopped working, and instead he heard over and over the Sorting Hat's song: ' _Let me decide which house will suit you best_ ,' it had said. Sirius didn't want to let the hat decide. That hat's decision was final, and if he failed, Sirius wouldn't get a second shot at Slytherin. He shuddered at the thought, and in a fit of desperation tried to imagine himself as Minister for Magic. You couldn't get more ambitious than that, Sirius thought dazedly.

McGonagall began calling out names, and with each one, Sirius' sense of dread increased. As Grace Abbot, the first from the list, shakily lowered that hat down onto her head, he forced his eyes away from the hat and focused on the other students. It was immediately obvious which of the four long tables was the Slytherin one. It was in the middle to his right, and Lucius Malfoy sat at it, smug-faced, in the seat closest to the high-table with Narcissa immediately next to him. Sirius' stomach did a backflip. Desperately, he looked through the faces for Andromeda, but she was seated right at the back, and didn't see him looking. It didn't matter, he told himself, he'd be joining her shortly.

'HUFFLEPUFF!' shouted the hat, and Sirius jumped. The table on the far right began to cheer enthusiastically as Grace ran over to join them, the relief obvious on her face. That was quick, thought Sirius, and he felt a little better. He knew now what he would do – he would march straight up to the hat, and he wouldn't let it put him anywhere he didn't want to be. He belonged in Slytherin – he had to. He just had to.

More names were called. Gryffindor on the far left exploded with shouts and cheers for Jacqueline Allsopp, for whom the hat had taken a little longer to decide. Aubrey Bertrem became another Hufflepuff, Adrian Barnes joined his cousin Andromeda at the Slytherin table. Sirius relaxed a little as Dromeda finally noticed him, and gave him an encouraging wink.

'Black, Sirius!'

It took Sirius a moment to realise that his name had been called. He stepped forward with his head held high and his back straight. He could do this. He could already imagine the pride in his father's voice, the smile on his mother's face. It had been so long since he had made them proud.

He sat down, took a deep breath, and pulled the hat over his head.

'Slytherin,' he thought loudly. 'I belong in Slytherin.'

There wasn't a response. Sirius paused for a moment. Would that hat speak to him? Would it ask him questions? How would he know where it was going to put him if it didn't respond to his thoughts?

'Hello?' he thought, a little more forcefully, 'Did you hear me? I'm a Slytherin. If you could just, I don't know, shout that to the hall, that would be great…'

'No need to be so rude,' a small voice murmured in his ear, 'I can hear everything you're thinking. Not that you'd know, but the human consciousness can be a little overwhelming at first. These things take time, young man.'

'Sorry,' thought Sirius, but he wasn't, 'If you could hurry up though-'

'My goodness! I don't think I've ever been worn by someone so rude. There's so much going on in your mind dear boy, so much conflict! There's loyalty, oh my goodness, yes… so loyal…'

'Put me in Hufflepuff, go on, I dare you,' growled Sirius, 'I'll shred you to pieces and feed you to the squid.'

'Tsk,' the hat tutted, 'You wouldn't make it in that noble house, my boy. Hufflepuff house values _manners_ , something you regrettably are lacking in… But look here! There's no shortage of brilliance, of wit! What deviousness you have locked away up here!'

The nerves were back in Sirius' stomach. It was taking too long; the hat was ignoring what was at stake and focusing on trivialities. What did it matter if he was clever? He _had_ to be in Slytherin. Why couldn't it see that?

'Deviousness,' he thought desperately, 'That's a Slytherin trait. Could you-'

'Oh dear,' said the hat, not sounding all that sorry, 'Subtlety isn't your strong suit, I see. And the ambition just isn't there either, I'm afraid…'

'Idiot!' Sirius snapped, 'Don't you see? I _belong in Slytherin_!'

'No,' said the hat, 'no you don't.'

Behind him, somebody coughed. Sirius momentarily lost his concentration on the hat and on impulse swivelled around to see who it was. James grinned nervously and mouthed a quick apology, eliciting a ripple of laughter from some of the older students.

'Ah,' sighed that hat, 'that's the one.'

'What?' Sirius panicked, turning back around and thinking as loudly as he could, 'Just put me in-'

'GRYFFINDOR!' screamed the hat.

* * *

 **AN: Dun Dun Duh**

 **I tend to ramble when it come to ANs, so I promised myself that I wouldn't do any for this fic. But this one is kind of necessary. I had loads of stuff that I wanted to say, but thankfully I've forgotten what it all was, so I'm only going to say what is absolutley necessary then sign off.**  
 **It's taken as red that there are five boys and five girls in each house per year. Do you know what that makes the annual intake? 40 students. That's only 280 students in the whole school. I have about that many in my yeargroup. It's tiny.**  
 **Let's think about this logically - Harry's year was the generation born in the war, where entire families were wiped out. It's fair to say that his year was smaller than average. Based on rough figures that JK has given us* I would estimate that the usual intake is double what it was in Harry's year. Perhaps more. I did the maths ages ago and now I can't remember my reasoning and 560 still seems kinda small.**

 **The idea makes sense though. Think of all of the empty classrooms mentioned in the books... The fact that there used to be multiple teachers per department**... The school was built for more people... There's plenty of stuff about this on Tumblr, so I know I'm not the first person to come up with this theory.**

 ***FYI these are open to interpretation - Harry's reliablity as a narrator is shocking (he thought Tonks had a crush on Sirius FFS) and JK has said herself that she is not amazing with numbers so don't take any figures from the book as gospel.**  
 ****Read McGonagall's biography on Pottermore! And while you're at it, read Lupins. So tragic. *sniff*. Many feels.**

 **So yeah, I bet you never thought you'd read a fic where the AN had footnotes. See what I mean? Rambling.**

 **Anyway, Read and Review. I'd love some reviews round about now. Thanks to SSB-CRAZYBUDGIEPOTTERHEAD if you're still around, for being my one and only reviewer thus far.**

 **Okay I promise I'm actually signing off now (This is why I don't do ANs!).**

 **Scribe of the Fanciful Xx**


	4. Brave at Heart

**-** CHAPTER FOUR-

 _ **Brave at Heart**_

The blank looks of shock among the Slytherins shouldn't have come as a surprise to Sirius. He should have expected Andromeda's wide-eyed look of horror, and Narcissa's pale fury. He didn't need to be able to hear what the students were saying – he could guess easily enough. There were some at the table, of course, who weren't from one of the old wizarding families, and Sirius watched as their confused faces slowly began to display the same level of understanding as their peers. Yes, Sirius though bitterly, he should have expected all of that. He should have known from the start that things weren't going to turn out his way. Somehow, they just never did.

'Mr Black,' Professor McGonagall said curtly, 'I'd be much obliged if you would join your house table. I'd rather not stay standing here from now until Christmas.'

Numbly, Sirius stood up. He was dimly aware that his feet were taking him to towards the Gryffindor table, where the initial wave of clapping and shouting was beginning to subside, but his mind had frozen in shock. _Gryffindo_ _r_? When he'd thought about failing the sorting ceremony, he had never stopped to think about which of the other houses he might be sorting in to – he had considered anything that wasn't Slytherin to be a worst case scenario.

Being sorted into Gryffindor was beyond a doubt worse than the worst. His family hated Gryffindor house. They held no regard for the things that the Black family prided most. They didn't care about history, or family, or any of it. They were lying, traitorous miscreants, the lot of them.

'Here,' a hand grabbed Sirius' sleeve and pulled him down onto a seat, 'Sit down, man. You can't stand there all night.'

At the front of the hall, a tiny blonde boy with a rather square face was now sitting on the stool with his eyes screwed shut. Sirius forced his eyes away from him, ignored the glances still being thrown at him from the Slytherin table, and turned to face whoever it was who had grabbed him.

It was a boy, considerably older than himself, who wore a tiny silver badge and a shock of bright orange hair. He was watching Sirius from out of the corner of his eye.

'Black, huh?' he whispered, 'That's a bummer. I don't reckon we've ever had a Black before.'

'Don't reckon you have,' muttered Sirius. He could feel a cold sweat breaking out on the back of his neck, and his hands were shaking slightly so he stuffed them quickly in his pockets. He didn't want anyone to see how scared he was. He could feel Narcissa's eyes drilling into the back of his skull, and knew that there would be no escaping his fate. The second that the feast was over, an owl would be sent to Grimmauld Place and Orion and Walburga Black would know that their firstborn son had betrayed them.

It's hardly my fault, Sirius thought weakly, but he knew that to his parents, that wouldn't make the slightest bit of difference.

'SLYTHERIN!' came the call, and the square-faced kid trotted off down the hall to sit in a space not far from where Andromeda sat. Like her sister, she was still watching Sirius, a concerned expression across her face.

'Bones, Freya!'

Reluctantly, Sirius watched as Freya Bones ran up to the front and tried on the hat, but as she did so something else caught Sirius' eye. James, who was still standing directly behind the stool, was desperately trying to catch his attention. He was grinning enthusiastically at Sirius. 'Nice one,' he mouthed, giving him the thumbs up and winking dramatically. Despite himself, Sirius couldn't help but smile faintly back.

* * *

Remus watched as Sirius took his seat at the Gryffindor table, stone-faced and pale. It had suddenly occurred to him that while all the other boys in the compartment had readily offered their last names, Sirius had made no such gesture, and Remus thought he could figure out why. He'd heard about the Black family from his father, who had once mentioned their nefarious reputation and fanaticism for the purity of blood. Judging by the expression on Sirius' face, Remus could tell that his family wouldn't take kindly to their son being sorted into a house with a reputation for welcoming muggle-borns, blood traitors, and any other variety of maverick or misfit that might be in attendance.

Remus couldn't bring himself to keep worrying about Sirius, though. As the sorting continued, he watched keenly as student after student rushed forward to the stool and crammed the hat on their head. He watched quietly as 'Bones, Freya,' became the first Ravenclaw. Next came two more Slytherins, then a trio of Hufflepuff girls: Greta, Diane and Lauren. Lauren wore tiny square glasses and her hair in ringlets so pale brown that they were almost grey, and Remus couldn't help but feel sorry for her as she tripped on her way down from the stool and there was a murmur of laughter.

Sometimes, Remus thought, the hat took a long time to decide, as it had done when Diane was sorted into Hufflepuff. Other times, it took almost no time at all. The red-haired girl from the compartment on the train (Remus remembered James calling her Lily) had barely sat on the stool before she was declared a Gryffindor. As she stood up Remus saw no indication at all that she had been crying some hours previously, but he watched her carefully as she passed the hat back to Professor McGonagall. She smiled at her dark-haired friend as she passed him, but when she saw Sirius sitting alone at the Gryffindor table, she folded her arms and kept on walking. Remus noticed the almost hurt expression vanish instantly from Sirius' face, almost as though it had never been there.

The names went on: Fairborn, Harkness, Harrison, until Remus stopped listening. His stomach was beginning to growl – he hadn't eaten as many of James' sweets as the other boys, and he was beginning to regret it. He was tired, hungry, and most of all desperate to get away from the front of the hall and the hundreds of staring faces below.

'Lupin, Remus!'

Remus swallowed. After what felt like forever he took a tentative step forward, and suddenly every eye in the hall was trained on him. In that moment, it was as though Remus' knees turned to water. He couldn't do this. He didn't want-

A soft cough came from behind him – so faint that Remus almost missed it. Albus Dumbledore was watching him over his spectacles, and as Remus glanced back the Headmaster _winked_ , slowly and deliberately so that Remus couldn't miss it. Once again, Remus felt a little better. He remembered Dumbledore's visit over the summer, and how hard the Professor had tried to convince Remus' parents that it would be safe for Remus to come to school. Dumbledore would protect him, Remus was certain. He stepped forward, took the hat, and sat down.

'Hmmm…' said the hat, and Remus jumped slightly, 'Goodness me, you're an interesting one.'

Not that interesting, Remus thought nervously. To his surprise, the hat seemed to hear him.

'My dear boy, you mustn't put yourself down like that. Your head is by far the most interesting one that I've met in a long time…'

Remus kept quiet. He wasn't sure quite what to expect, or what he should do. He just wanted the hat to hurry up so that he could get out of the view of the other students in the hall. The hat was so large that it had fallen over his face, but he could still feel the students' eyes, like thousands of tiny lasers that spread shivers down his neck.

'Oh, you really don't like being made a fuss of, do you?' the hat said cheerfully, 'It's rather remarkable that you're here at all, all things considered. Your dedication to extending your magical learning is rather exceptional - your friend was right, you would make an excellent Ravenclaw…'

Still, Remus kept quiet, trying to think neutral thoughts. He couldn't help but feel that the hat had got the wrong end of the stick, though. As much as he wished that it had been a desire to further his education that had fuelled him to accept Dumbledore's offer, it had been a far more selfish reason: he'd just wanted to be normal.

'There we go,' said the hat, and Remus thought that it sounded, if possible, even happier, 'that's the reason you're here. A dream - a driving desire that you would risk it all for. Not that you wouldn't make a good Ravenclaw,' it added hastily, 'but for your goal you would face all that you fear most: exclusion, discovery, and worst of all, rejection. So you see, as wonderful as you would be in Ravenclaw house, there really is only one place for you.'

'GRYFFINDOR!' shouted the hat.

* * *

Peter was getting really quite nervous, now. As the cheers exploded from the Gryffindor table, his heart sank like a stone. Remus was blinking and smiling awkwardly; he'd made his way down to join Sirius, as though walking in a dream, and somewhere to Peter's right he was pretty certain he could hear James clapping and whooping along with the rest. It was beginning to look like Peter was to be the only one of the boys from the compartment not going to end up in Gryffindor, and Peter didn't like the prospect of having to start again with new people.

He supposed that, unpleasant as it would be, he would survive in Hufflepuff, which was the only place that he was likely to end up. The house was renowned for producing unremarkable, commonplace witches and wizards, and Peter was beginning to suspect that it would be his doom to melt, unrecognised, into the background for the rest of his life.

Peter was disturbed from his thoughts by Professor McGonagall, who was calling a name that Peter recognised.

'McKinnon, Marlene!'

The pretty girl blonde girl from the train was marching up towards the stool, her head held high. Peter didn't miss the fact that a lot of eyes were watching her very closely as she lowered the hat down over her head.

The hat barely even left her hands.

'HUFFLEPUFF!' it screamed.

Peter was astounded. That didn't fit at all. From what he'd seen of Marlene she was confident, outspoken, and rather decent to look at. Surely she'd be more suited to Gryffindor or Ravenclaw than Hufflepuff?

Marlene was followed by a pair of Ravenclaw boys – Todd More and Halloran Patil. Then –

'Pettigrew, Peter!'

Peter shuffled forwards, took the hat, and clambered onto the stool. That hat was so large that it almost reached his chin, which caused a slight ripple of laughter among the students.

Hufflepuff, for sure, he thought miserably.

'You know,' came a voice, and Peter was sure that it was the hat talking, 'I never knew why Hufflepuff gets such a raw deal. The students there possess many outstanding qualities, that you dear boy are rather lacking in, I'm afraid.'

Peter's heart skipped a beat. If he wasn't even good enough for Hufflepuff –

'Let's see,' the hat interrupted, 'you're a tricky one. Gracious, yes, very difficult. Certainly not Hufflepuff, I'm afraid, and Ravenclaw is absolutely out of the question. The desire for recognition is strong, and with that the fear of failure. Ah, but with fear comes bravery – there's a fair amount of strength in here, not that you'd see it at first…'

The hat continued in this way for some time. Peter sat, stock still, painfully aware of how long the hat was taking to decide. To his astonishment, it appeared to be rather stuck between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Peter wouldn't have believed himself capable of either. Pride bubbled inside him – here was his chance to be recognised, to stand out amongst the crowd.

'Ah-ha! Pride – how very Slytherin! But the potential here for great courage! What to do, _what to do_?'

Peter was beginning to feel uncomfortable by this point. He couldn't be sure, but he could guess that he had been sitting there for far longer than anyone else that had gone before him. It couldn't be usual for it to take this long.

'Ah, but the courage! Buried deep, but waiting to emerge! To quash the possibility too soon would be a tragedy! What a dilemma! There's so much supressed ambition here, and selfishness in no small amount! My, my, what you wouldn't do to save your own skin! Such inherent darkness, and yet, with all of this determination you could grow to quell it in an instant!'

Muttering was beginning to break out around the hall. Peter was starting to get annoyed with the hat – its constant swaying back and forth was giving him a headache. He wished it would just hurry up and decide already. People were staring at him, and not in a good way.

'Look,' he thought loudly, 'Get on with it, will you?'

'Oho!' cheered the hat, 'that's a bit more like it! There's a bit of backbone beginning to emerge already! In the future that could really grow into something!' The hat suddenly stopped dead. For a few seconds, there was absolute silence.

'Hatstall!' someone shouted, and clapping broke out across the hall. Peter was confused, and really beginning to get angry with the hat. What was a hatstall? Why were they all clapping? If it hadn't chosen a house by now did that mean that he wasn't ever going to get one?

'What's-' he asked the hat, but it cut him off.

'The future,' it said in a small voice, 'Oh dear boy, what a future! So much pain, and loneliness! So much indecision! Grief will bring out the worst in you, I fear…'

'Screw the future,' thought Peter, 'Just pick a house!'

'The potential may remain, though,' the hat said sadly, 'who knows? It may all come to good, in the end.'

'Does that mean that you've-'

'GRYFFINDOR!' shouted the hat, to tumultuous applause. Peter, relieved, pulled the hat from his head and threw it over his shoulder, practically running down to the Gryffindor table, who were standing up and clapping raucously, screaming 'Hatstall! Hatstall!' over and over. Hurriedly, Peter searched for where Remus as Sirius were sitting and flung himself, red-faced, into a seat opposite them.

'What's a hatstall?' he asked, breathlessly.

Remus shrugged, but Sirius answered him glumly.

'It's when it takes longer than five minutes for someone to be sorted,' he explained, and Peter noticed that he didn't look as happy as everyone else did, 'It doesn't happen very often, maybe every fifty years or so, so when it does people tend to get a little excited.'

Excited people certainly were. The Gryffindors were jumping up and down and patting Peter on the head and screaming 'Hatstall! Hatstall!' over and over. Peter barely noticed them, though. He was beaming ear to ear, and thinking how proud his mum was going to be when he told her the good news.

Sirius still didn't look too thrilled, though. He was watching the front of the hall, eyes narrowed. Professor McGonagall had pulled James forward and was motioning for silence.

'Wish they'd shut up,' Sirius muttered.

'At least we already know what house he'll be in,' Peter pointed out. He was happier than he could ever remember being – _he was in Gryffindor_! And what's more, there were people in the same house as him who actually wanted to include to him. It was more than he could have dared hope.

Just as he was thinking this, Sirius spun round and snarled at him – actually _snarled_.

'That's a load of _shit_ ,' he growled, 'there's no way of knowing, you hear me? None at all!'

Peter's insides trembled at this, but Remus spoke up.

'Calm down,' he said, meeting Sirius' eyes and holding them, 'he didn't mean anything by it.'

Peter was shocked, but pleasantly surprised. The other boy hadn't spoken much on the train, and Peter had thought that he was slightly scared of the two louder boys, but here he was, standing up for Peter. He expected Sirius to say something in return, but by that time McGonagall had finally convinced the Gryffindors to sit down again, and there was silence throughout the hall.

* * *

Everything was quiet again, and McGonagall coughed loudly, clearly disproving of the Gryffindors' behaviour. James couldn't help but think that she didn't look like the sort of person who approved of things like _being happy_ or _having fun_. He'd bet his broomstick she gave lots of detentions and set really difficult homework. Hopefully he wouldn't have her for too many hoped that he didn't have her for too many lessons.

He forgot all about that, however, when she called his name to the hall.

'Potter, James!'

He was already standing at the front, having been pulled forward while the Gryffindors were still shouting, and part of his mind was still wondering how McGonagall had known who he was when the hat was thrust onto his head and he was sitting on the stool.

'Hmmm,' said a quiet voice that James could only assume was the hat, 'you seem pretty sure of yourself. Plenty of courage, yes I see that. Not a bad mind, either. There's talent, oh my goodness, yes – such talent. Perhaps not as heroic as you'd like to think, though, at least not yet. You have a long way to go before you learn what real bravery is, my boy.'

James' insides went cold.

'Does that mean I'm not in Gryffindor?' he asked the hat, 'Am I not brave enough?'

'No,' said the hat, 'you aren't. Not yet. But you will be.'

'GRYFFINDOR!' it shouted, to tumultuous applause. James breathed a sigh of relief, and flopped off the stool, his body jittery with adrenaline. It felt wonderful – even better than he thought it would be. He hadn't realised how nervous he was – only now that the relief came flooding in did he see just how scared he had been. It would have been beyond imagining to end up somewhere else, especially when all the other boys from the train had already been sorted there.

He gave the hat back to McGonagall, and James could have sworn that she gave him a brief smile, then walked slowly over to join the others, trying not to look too excited or pleased with himself. He sauntered over to an empty seat next to Peter, and grinned at Sirius, who was opposite.

'Isn't this wicked? We all made it into Gryffindor!'

Sirius didn't grin back. It struck James suddenly that he didn't look especially excited or pleased. On the contrary, he was stony-faced and scowling. Peter however, was bubbling.

'Who'd have thought?' he whispered to James as 'Powell, Richard!' joined the Hufflepuff table, 'I never dreamed I'd make Gryffindor! Hufflepuff, I thought-'

'Yeah, well things don't always work out the way that they should.' Sirius snapped. James stared at him. The other boy wasn't acting at all like he had done on the train – where he'd been good natured and laid back before, he seemed irritable and ill-tempered. He kept turning round and glancing over his shoulder to look at the Slytherin table, and to James' confusion, there seemed to be plenty of people staring back.

'Hey-' he grabbed Sirius' sleeve, and the other boy spun back around at once, still scowling. 'What's up with you? Is everything-'

'I'm fine,' Sirius glowered, and James had the good sense to drop it. At least for now.

The sorting continued. After a group of Ravenclaws (Scamander, Shore, and Smith), came a familiar face.

'Look who it is, Peter,' James grinned, 'it's your friend.'

The black-haired boy, Severus Snape, had just been called forward. His robes hung loosely about him, and in the candlelight his dark hair glistened unpleasantly, as though thick with grease.

'Three guesses where he'll end up,' James smirked. Peter joined in, but Remus frowned and Sirius just muttered, 'For goodness' sake, give it a rest.'

The hat barely needed a moment to decide.

'SLYTHERIN!' it bellowed, and Snape floated eerily down to the Slytherin table, where he was greeted by a prefect with long, ice-blond hair.

There were only a dozen students left to be sorted now. As Orianna Young, who was last on the list, took her place at the Slytherin table not far from Snape, all eyes flicked to the front of the hall. Albus Dumbledore had stood up.

'Welcome!' he cried, smiling slightly, 'Welcome to Hogwarts. When this school was built, the founders saw fit to bestow upon their students that most marvellous piece of advice: _draco dormiens nunquam titillandus_ – not bad as far as proverbs go. Tonight, however, I believe most of you will find this little Latin phrase far more agreeable _:_ _felicem festum diem_!'

There was a smattering of laughter from around the hall, and then, to James' delight, the food appeared. James was used to good food – his mother's roast dinners were by far the most wonderful things that he had ever tasted, but as he helped himself to roast beef and Yorkshire pudding, he had to admit that the Hogwarts food came a close second.

'Potatoes, Remus?' James muttered, his mouth stuffed full of the most delicious roast potatoes that he'd had in years.

Remus didn't respond. He was still staring down the table, wide eyed and open mouthed, as though he had never seen this much food before in his life. Slowly, he took the potatoes from James and gingerly added a few to his plate. Peter followed suit, looking equally impressed.

'I wish I hadn't eaten all those sweets,' Peter moaned, looking longingly at an enormous plate of bacon not far from his elbow, 'it all looks so good.'

James didn't reply. He was too busy adding ketchup to his chips and shovelling them into his mouth.

'First years, huh?'

Momentarily tearing himself away from his chips, James glanced at the boy who'd spoken. He was clearly a fair bit older than they were – he was tall and wiry, with flame-red hair and a lot of freckles.

'Don't get used it,' the older boy was saying, 'I mean, the food's always good, but the feasts are always something else.' He winked at Peter. 'I'd start hoarding that bacon while you have the chance, dude.'

Peter nodded mutely and began pushing bacon onto his plate at an alarming rate. Remus followed suit, reaching for a plate of pork chops and smothering them in gravy.

'Are you a prefect?' James asked the older boy, noticing the silver badge on his robes.

'Nah,' the boy grinned, 'I've got way too many detentions to be prefect. I'm Quidditch captain. Name's Gideon.'

'James,' James grinned, forgetting the beef going cold on his plate in the light of a far more important discovery, 'What position do you play?'

'Chaser, mostly. I'm not a bad keeper, though.'

'Awesome,' sighed James, 'I'm the same. I can't believe that first years aren't allowed to play.'

'It's probably for the best,' Gideon frowned, 'the injuries we get are pretty nasty, especially the seekers – poor buggers…'

'I've never been allowed to play,' Peter moaned, clearly eager to join in the conversation, 'but first years get flying lessons, don't they?'

'Yeah, but not for a couple of weeks…'

James groaned internally. _A couple of weeks_! He wouldn't be allowed near a broom for over a fortnight! He wasn't sure if he would survive that…

Remus coughed loudly.

James looked up, and Remus nodded wordlessly over to where Sirius was sitting, or rather, where he _had been_ sitting. James caught sight of him, walking quickly between the house tables and towards the door, not pausing to glance over his shoulder as he ran the last few paces and slipped out of the hall.

Gideon watched him go, eyes narrowed.

'Black, wasn't it?' he asked, 'you should probably go after him. Don't want him doing anything stupid, if you catch my drift.'

James wasn't sure that he did. What was Sirius' problem all of a sudden? He'd been a right laugh on the train, and then just like that he was acting all weird. He hadn't even touched his food.

After a moment's hesitation, James stood up.

'Are you chumps coming or what?'

He turned on his heel and left the hall, the others hot on his tail.

* * *

'Hey, wait up!'

Sirius kept walking. He wasn't sure where he was going or what he was doing, he just knew that he had to get out of the hall, where the Slytherins were still craning their necks to stare at him in outright contempt.

'Hey! Dude! Wait up!'

'Oh just leave me alone, will you?' Sirius turned around, and James almost ran straight into him, stopping only just in time.

'What's wrong?' the other boy asked, running a hand nervously thorough his hair and staring at Sirius, clearly in the dark about what was happening. Sirius resisted the urge to hit him.

'It's alright for you,' he spat, 'you're just where you want to be, aren't you? Gryffindor, like dear old dad! Well that's wonderful, isn't it? Congratulations! I hope you're happy!'

'What is your deal?' James blinked, 'I thought-'

'NO YOU DIDN'T!' Sirius screamed, 'YOU DIDN'T THINK! JUST BECAUSE YOU GOT WHAT YOU WANTED THAT DOESN'T MEAN THAT WE'RE ALL AS PLEASED AS YOU ARE!'

'What-'

'Slytherin,' said a quiet voice, and the pair wheeled around. Remus was watching them, closely, Peter at his side. 'You wanted to be in Slytherin.'

Sirius nodded. James looked dumbstruck.

'But _why_? You're way too cool to be Slytherin.'

'His family,' Remus said, 'They're famous for always being in Slytherin. Amongst… other things.'

'But that shouldn't-'

'Well they're not exactly the forgiving type,' Sirius snapped, 'you should have seen their faces back in the hall. My cousin-'

'You don't care what _they_ think, do you?' James said, incredulous, 'You're your own person! It's not up to anyone else where you belong – that's up to you. If your family don't get that then I reckon you're doing well to be shot of them, you know?'

'No, you don't know,' said Sirius, his anger fading and the sense of desperation returning, 'you don't know my parents, they'll…' he stopped dead. He didn't want to think about what his parents would do.

There was a pause.

'How did you know all that stuff?' he said at last, 'about my family?'

Remus shrugged, and flushed slightly pink.

'My dad… mentioned them.'

James' eyes opened wide.

'Black?' he gawped, 'not _the_ Blacks?'

'So you _have_ heard of them,' Sirius muttered. It was all over now. Not only was he about to be disowned, he was about to lose the only friends he had in this place. He wasn't likely to make any more after this, not after the Gryffindors figured out that he was in the wrong house.

'Yeah, I- blimey,' James ran a hand through his hair again, 'I hadn't realised.'

He looked at Sirius over the top of his glasses.

'Well,' he said, 'it's not like you're one of them, is it? I mean, if the hat thinks that you're a Gryffindor, then you've got to be decent enough. Besides, on the train, you didn't sound as though you got on with them very well…'

Sirius gawped at him.

'You reckon? My family hated Gryffindors. You're okay with that?'

'As long as you don't,' James shrugged, 'you're not your family. I mean, I'd hate for people to think that I'm like my mother. She's great and all,' he pulled a face, 'she's just so _fussy_.'

And just like that, Sirius felt a bit better. Not completely – but still. It was an improvement. James didn't seem to hate him, and neither did the other two boys from the train. He might not know them very well, but at least there were some people left that didn't hate him. No matter what happened with his family, he'd at least have someone to talk to.

'You mean it?'

'Yeah,' James shrugged, 'If you're done shouting, we should be getting back to the hall. There should be some pudding left, and I'm still _starving_.'

* * *

 **AN: Sorry. Yet another AN. Had to be done. Beware rambling.**

 **A few days earlier than I had planned... IDK if that means the next chapter will be early or not. Just to clarify updates are supposed to be every other friday, but that's a bit fluid.  
**

 **Please review? Reviews are a little thin on the ground. JK really thin on the ground XD Right now I'm writing in the dark because I don't have any way of judging what is going well and what isn't. So, if you're reading this at all please drop me a comment - I'll take anything. Even if it's only one word (cheers again** **SSB-CRAZYBUDGIEPOTTERHEAD). All opinions welcome.**

 **(Except flames. Obviously.)  
**

 **Scribe Xx**


	5. The Transfiguration Teacher

**-** CHAPTER FIVE-

 _ **The Transfiguration Teacher**_

Remus did not sleep easily that night. As usual, his dreams were plagued with ear-splitting howls and dark shapes that slithered creepily just out of sight. There were other shapes, though, shapes that he hadn't seen before – the shapes of students, whispering and pointing at him. He caught snatches of what they were saying.

 _'Freak!'_

 _'Savage!'_

 _'Monster!'_

'Remus!'

Remus whimpered and tried to bat them away, but they kept coming, tugging at his arms and shaking him.

'Remus! Wake up!'

Remus woke up. He was lying in a four poster bed with scarlet hangings. Daylight was streaming in through a window to his left, and James was standing over him, his hair even messier than it had been the day before and his glasses askew.

'You need to get up! It's time for breakfast! We all overslept!'

'You overslept,' said Sirius groggily. There were shadows under his eyes and he was still wearing his robes from the night before, 'some of us were awake all night.'

As Remus got dressed, he watched the other boys cautiously through the minute gaps in his bed hangings. In the night, it appeared that someone had been into the rooms and laid out fresh clothes at the ends of their beds: ties, hats, scarves and even socks, all in the same Gryffindor scarlet and gold. James had already draped his scarf over his shoulders and was now battling with the tie. No matter what he did, it somehow ended up looking wonky. Even though he had been awake before Remus, Peter was still in his pyjamas, and was rooting around in his trunk for underwear. Sirius, like James, appeared to be investigating his new tie. He held it between his index finger and thumb, like a grenade that might go off any second.

'I can't wear this,' he said abruptly.

'Me neither,' James frowned, examining his handiwork in the mirror 'this thing looks ridiculous. How in the name of Merlin's left nostril can anyone ever tie one of these things?'

'I'll do it,' Sirius sighed, dropping his own tie and impatiently grabbing James by the collar, 'It's not that difficult.'

'You just said-'

'I know how to tie a tie,' Sirius snapped, 'but I _can't_ wear it. If my parents find out-'

'You said your cousins will have told them last night,' James shrugged, 'they already know. There's only so much damage you can do, mate. Stop worrying.'

Sirius gave James' tie one last tug, and Remus thought it had been rather harder than was necessary. The other boy didn't have an answer to that, though. He stalked back over to his bed, snatching his tie up from the floor as he went.

Remus had finished dressing, and climbed out of his four-poster. His father had taught him how to do his tie before he left, and although it didn't look as good as James', which now lay perfectly flat, he was rather proud of it.

'Do you know where the Owlery is?' he asked James, tentatively, 'I thought… Well… I suppose I'd better write to Dad. To let him know that I'm in Gryffindor, and that I'm here safely, and, well, you know how parents are…'

He tried to sound as nonchalant as possible, and not at all like he desperately missed home and was worried sick about the weekend. The moon was getting stronger – he could feel it. It was like a churning in his blood, or a tugging in the pit of his stomach that lurched sickeningly when he least expected it. Normally he'd have his parents to help him – his dad would tell him stories and his mum would make hot chocolate and he'd know that no matter what happened, they'd help him through. But his parents weren't here – they were hundreds of miles away at home, and he wouldn't see them until the Christmas holidays. This Sunday would be the first time in his life that he'd face the full moon without them. He wasn't ready for that. He wasn't ready for any of it.

He became dimly aware that James was speaking.

'…possibly the third floor,' he frowned, 'or maybe the second. We could ask someone, but that would take ages,' he grimaced, 'if we have to keep asking where things are if we want to find something.' He narrowed his eyes, then ran a hand through his hair, grinning conspiratorially at Remus. 'There's nothing for it,' he said, his voice quivering with excitement, 'we'll just have to go exploring.'

Peter emerged from behind his bed hangings, red faced and panting.

'I'm ready,' he wheezed, 'we can go now!'

James glanced at Peter, let out an enormous burst of laughter which he quickly suppressed, and stood up. Sirius, who had been focused on straightening the knot of his tie, which he had finally done up, looked up to see what was funny. He too let out a bark of laughter, caught James' eye and held it, both of them trying furiously not to laugh.

'Let's go,' James said, still smirking at Sirius, 'We wouldn't want to start the day the _wrong way_ now, would we?'

'That would be a travesty,' said Sirius, seriously, 'You coming Peter?'

They left. Peter hesitated to follow.

'What's so funny?' he asked Remus, anxiously.

'You've got your robes on back to front,' Remus said, managing to contain his laughter far better than either James or Sirius. 'Come on, I'll help you. We can catch them up later.'

* * *

It took James and Sirius _ages_ to get down to the great hall. Concerned that all of the food would be gone, James kept trying to break into a run to speed the process up, but Sirius didn't seem all that concerned, despite the fact that the only thing he had eaten since the sorting was a spoonful of trifle and half a treacle tart.

James wondered if he was still worried about his family. They didn't sound like very nice people, and while James was really beginning to like Sirius, he couldn't understand why it mattered so much to him what they thought. If James' parents ever tried to make him do something that he didn't want to do, James would stand up for himself. Sometimes he got his way, sometimes he didn't, but at least he always tried. Why couldn't Sirius do the same?

'Why the _hell_ ,' James grumbled, 'is Gryffindor tower seven floors up? If going to breakfast is going to take this long every morning then I might just start stashing food upstairs.'

'It's closer for the Slytherins,' Sirius muttered, 'they just come up out of the dungeons.'

'You know where the Slytherin common room is?' James asked, impressed, 'what about the other ones?'

Sirius scowled at him.

'No idea,' he muttered, 'my family were all Slytherin, remember? I never got told about Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw. Or Gryffindor for that matter.'

'Too bad,' James shrugged, 'You're going to love being in Gryffindor – I promise.'

They had reached the entrance hall. It was mostly empty, but a few students remained, hurriedly cramming toast into their mouths and complaining about their new timetables.

'I mean,' James chose the nearest seat at the Gryffindor table and reached for a bowl of shreddies, 'once your parents have got over the initial shock, I'm sure-'

A fat, red envelope landed on top of his cereal. It was addressed in immaculate handwriting to:

 _Mr S. Black_

 _Gryffindor Tower_

 _Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 _The Scottish Uplands_

'This is for you, mate,' he picked it up and passed it over his shoulder. It felt strangely hot and heavy in his hand, 'If the worst your parents can do it write you a letter, then-'

James stopped mid-sentence.

'Hang on-'

The envelope was beginning to smoke at the edges. It was shaking in James' fingers, and growing hotter and hotter by the second.

'Sirius,' his heart was beginning to race a little, 'you have to open it _now_. That's a-'

'I know what it is,' Sirius said, staring in horror at the envelope, 'I'm not opening it.'

'You have to,' James insisted, 'That's a _howler_. It's worse for you if you don't open them straight away – it'll just explode and then deliver the message anyway – Dad got sent one once, and-'

'I'm _not_ opening it,' Sirius insisted, backing away without taking his eyes of the envelope, 'I can't-'

'Just take it!'

'I can't!'

'For goodness' sake-'

'I _can't_!'

'JUST TAKE THE ENVELOPE!'

The Howler burst into flames. James let out a cry and dropped it. The letter fell to the floor, still on fire, where it curled up into a pile of ashes and went out, but not before a voice hissed from its remains like the rising of smoke, filling the great hall with a cold, hard, rage.

' _Revolting little apostate*_ ,' it howled, ' _You filthy renegade! If I find out you did this on purpose, there'll be hell to pay! I promise you!'_

Everyone in the almost deserted hall was looking at Sirius, whose face had turned a nasty shade of grey-green. He blinked a few times, but didn't seem able to take his eyes away from the smoking pile of dust on the floor at his feet.

'Sirius?' James asked, 'Uh- was that… Was that your Mum?'

He nodded, slowly.

'Bloody hell,' James whistled. Whatever he'd expected, it hadn't been that. Shouting, yes, maybe even the insults, but the tone of anger, of _hatred_ almost, in howler's voice… He'd never heard an adult speak like that. He'd never heard anyone _s_ peak with quite that level of _loathing_. No wonder Sirius had been freaked out. If his family truly hated him that much –

'Looks to me like getting sorted into Gryffindor was the best thing that ever happened to you,' he said, 'at least you don't have to put up with people like that anymore.'

Sirius tore his eyes away from the remains of the howler.

'I have to go home eventually, though, don't I?'

'Not until the summer,' James pointed out, 'some kids stay in school over Christmas. If you don't want to, you don't have to have anything to do with them until July.'

Sirius' eyes brightened.

'You're kidding, right?'

'No,' James shrugged, 'loads of people do it.'

Sirius blinked, smirked, and threw himself onto the bench beside James.

' _Awesome_.' He seized a stack of toast and began eating fast, like a dog that hadn't been fed for days, 'They'll be _furious_ , and they won't be able to do _anything._ Not until the summer at any rate, and I reckon I'll have learnt a few good curses by then.'

He glanced at James, grinning as he reached for a jug.

'Thanks,' he said, tossing down a whole mug of steaming black coffee and refilling it at once.

'No problem,' James gawped, 'Hungry?'

'You have _no_ idea,' Sirius said, continuing to cram toast into his face and not bothering to swallow before he spoke, 'I haven't had proper food since-'

'Mr. Potter. Mr. Black.'

James looked up. Professor McGonagall was standing over them, frowning slightly and holding several pieces of paper in her arms.

'What time do you call this?' she asked curtly, 'Lessons are about to start. I suggest that if you plan on eating breakfast, you wake up earlier tomorrow. I won't tolerate first years in my house that think that they can get away with tardiness. Especially this early in the term.'

'Sorry Professor,' James gulped. Bloody hell, that woman was scary. She looked just as severe as she had the night before, glaring at them with her eagle eyes and tight lips. If he hadn't seen her smile the night before, James would have doubted she was capable of something as normal as _smiling._ 'Er – where would we get are timetables? We haven't been given them yet…'

'That,' McGonagall glowered, 'is because you were late. I have them here.'

She handed them a piece of paper each.

'I don't suppose you could tell me where I might find Mr. Lupin and Mr. Pettigrew? They also appear to have slept in. I believe that the four of you share a dormitory?'

'Peter had a problem with his robes,' James explained, grinning at Sirius as he did, 'They, er- were going to catch us up.'

'I'm afraid they won't have time,' McGonagall sniffed, 'If you would be so kind as to deliver their timetables to them, I have a class to teach.'

She began to walk off between the tables, then turned.

'Mr. Black? I'd like to see you in my office after break. It's on the first floor. I'd appreciate it if you could make the effort to get there promptly - I have plenty to be getting on with.'

She stalked off towards the entrance hall. James stared after her.

'What the hell does she want?' he asked, incredulous, 'We've only been here five minutes! You haven't done anything!'

Sirius dropped his toast, leaving it half eaten on the plate.

'Mother probably sent her a letter demanding I get transferred to Slytherin immediately.'

James' stomach did a nasty leap.

'Do you _want_ to be transferred?'

'Don't know,' said Sirius, not meeting James' eye, 'I don't think it matters either way. The Sorting Hat's decision is final, remember?'

'Oh, yeah…'

He stood up.

'You heard what she said. We have to get to class.'

'Herbology,' Sirius glanced at the timetable, 'that's outside, thank goodness. At least we can't get lost.'

'Grab as much toast as you can,' James reached for a stack and crammed it into his pockets, 'Remus and Peter aren't going to have time for breakfast. Where are they, anyway?'

'There,' Sirius pointed. The other two boys had just appeared in the doorway, red-faced and out of breath. Clearly they had had trouble finding their way back down, as well.

'Come on,' James grabbed Peter on the way past, spinning him around and dragging him back through the entrance hall. Sirius and Remus followed close behind. 'We're late. You can eat on the way.'

* * *

'That was a lot better than I thought it would be,' Peter frowned, 'If all of our lessons are that easy, then I suppose that it can't be _that_ bad, right?'

'It was only easy because it was the first lesson, you chump,' Sirius sighed, 'Besides, first year Herbology was always going to be a bit of a joke anyway. The most interesting thing in that greenhouse were those Flitterblooms, and that's only because they look a bit like Devil's Snare. They don't actually _do_ anything.'

'Who cares?' James was already halfway back up to the castle and had to shout back at them so that they could hear him, 'We've got twenty minutes before Transfiguration starts! Let's go _explore_!'

'Can't,' Sirius groaned, 'I've got to go and see McGonagall, remember?'

James' face fell.

'That's a bummer. We'll have to wait until lunch.'

'It's fine,' Sirius lied, 'You guys go to the Owlery and I'll see you in Transfiguration. It's not as if I have any letters to send, anyway,' he added bitterly.

'Are you sure?' Remus asked, biting his lip, 'I can wait until lunchtime if you-'

'It's _fine_ ,' Sirius insisted, although it really wasn't, 'you guys go ahead. I'll see you later.'

They had reached the foot of the marble staircase in the entrance hall. With one last glance over his shoulder, James ran off up the stairs with the other two hot on his tail. Sirius stood for a moment at the bottom of the stairs, then began to trudge up them, wishing desperately that he could hit something.

'Excuse me,'

Sirius spun around. It was the girl that had been speaking to James in the chamber off the hall. Her pale hair had been immaculately curled into tight ringlets, and her new yellow tie was very long and very tightly knotted.

'Can it wait?' Sirius demanded, his fists shaking slightly, 'I'm going to be late for McGonagall.'

The girl scowled.

'Well you are if you go that way,' she retorted, gesturing down the corridor that Sirius had been about to walk down, 'Transfiguration is the other direction. A prefect told me this morning.'

'Oh. Well… thanks.'

'You're welcome,' she said, in a tone of voice that suggested she didn't think him at all welcome. 'If you're going to be so rude, I won't bother in future.' She stalked off down the stairs to join her friends.

'Wait,' Sirius called, 'It's McKinnon, right? Marlene McKinnon?'

'Yeah,' said Marlene, still frowning, 'and you're Sirius Black. Everyone's talking about you, you know?'

Sirius really did hit something, then. Everything he had been feeling since he had been sorted – all the rage, all the fear, all the embarrassment, it all exploded out of him at once. He lashed out, and the suit of armour to his left collapsed in a deafening clatter of clanging and crashing that was only echoed by the empty stone corridor. Marlene was looking at him with an odd curiosity.

'Sorry,' he muttered, although he wasn't sorry at all.

'Don't be,' she shrugged, 'although I suggest that next time you feel like punching stuff you find a cushion or something. You've cut your hand.'

She was right. Blood was beginning to well up on Sirius' clenched knuckles, and to make things worse students were beginning to gather at both ends of the corridor, drawn by the loud noise.

'Mr. Black!'

Sirius groaned. Professor McGonagall had just swept into sight, carrying an enormous stack of books in her arms and wearing an incredibly disapproving expression.

'With me!'

'Good luck,' Marlene whispered, and dashed down the steps and out of sight. Numbly, Sirius followed after Professor McGonagall, nursing his bloodied hand and cursing his bad luck. He'd not even been at Hogwarts a day, and things were going worse than he could possibly imagined: he was in the wrong house, he'd got lost, barely eaten, been publicly humiliated by _a piece of paper_ and now it looked like he was going to be the first person in the year to get detention. If it continued like this, he didn't reckon he'd even last a week.

'In here,' McGonagall flung open a door and motioned Sirius inside. The room was sparsely furnished, with a desk and single chair and a bookshelf that covered the rear wall.

'Sit,' said McGonagall, setting down the pile of books and giving them a sharp tap with her wand. Instantly, they changed into a three-legged stool that wobbled a little before settling down on the stone floor in front of the desk. Apprehensively, Sirius sat.

Professor McGonagall stared at him for a few moments before saying curtly 'I assume that little display in the corridor was something to do with the howler you received this morning?'

'Go ahead, put me in detention,' Sirius said glumly.

McGonagall raised an eyebrow, but otherwise her face remained impassive.

'Detention?'

'I've not even been here a day and I've already started smashing up the decorations,' Sirius frowned, 'and the howler – '

'Mr. Black,' McGonagall interrupted, 'If we punished a student every time something got broken, then there would be more detentions per week than students in the school.'

Sirius stared at her. She was being oddly matter-of-fact about the whole thing – he couldn't figure out what she wanted from him.

'Then why am I-'

'As for the howler,' she continued, 'I also received one this morning, thankfully rather before you did. I managed to open it before breakfast started.'

Sirius swallowed.

'My mother - '

'Is under the impression that you are in the wrong house,' McGonagall interrupted, 'She was rather insistent that you should be allowed to transfer to Slytherin immediately.'

'I can't, can I?' Sirius said slowly, 'One the hat has decided - '

'That depends. Do you _want_ to be in Slytherin?'

A million different answers sprung into Sirius' head all at once. He thought of his parents, and the words of his mother's letter which were still ringing in his ears: _filthy renegade… there'll be hell to pay..._ Being in Slytherin was something that he'd always wanted. Orion and Walburga had never cared for him much, not like they had Reg. It was Reg who was the golden child, Reg who never failed to win his parent's affections. Sirius had always thought that once he was at Hogwarts, once he started learning magic in earnest and started making them proud, they'd begin to see him a little differently. Maybe they wouldn't be angry with him all the time – maybe they'd forgive him for all the mistakes he kept making, if he could balance them out by making a name for himself at school.

But all of those hopes depended on his being in Slytherin.

All of that was gone now – the howler had confirmed that. No matter what he did, no matter which house he was in, there would be no getting rid of what he had done. Even if he transferred to Slytherin at once, Sirius doubted very much whether his parents would ever be able to forget the dishonour he had brought on them.

The only deciding factor that remained was where Sirius wanted to be.

'No,' Sirius said at last.

'No?'

'No,' he repeated, a little more firmly, 'I don't want to be in Slytherin. I want to stay in Gryffindor, with James and the others.'

To his astonishment, McGonagall's face split into a smile.

'I'm glad to hear it.'

She stood up, gesturing for Sirius to do the same. At once, the stool turned back into a pile of books, which began flying off in different directions to fall into place on the neatly stacked shelves.

'As your head of house, I don't think that any disciplinary measures will be necessary this time. I must, however, warn against attacking suits of armour in the future. Some of them are rather inclined to fight back.'

She glanced down at Sirius hand, which was covered in drying blood from where he had cut himself on the sharp metal.

'Run along to the hospital wing and get that seen to before the bell goes. You're going to want to be able to concentrate properly for you next lesson.' She sniffed sharply, 'Transfiguration isn't like _other subjects_. I can't afford to go easy on my students just because it's the first lesson. Hard work and concentration is the only way to learn.'

'Yeah,' Sirius muttered. He wasn't all that sure he liked the sound of that, 'well… Thanks.'

'Thank you _Professor,_ ' McGonagall corrected.

'Thank you Professor.'

Sirius was about to leave before something occurred to him.

'Um, Professor?'

'Yes?'

'Where _is_ the hospital wing?'

McGonagall tutted loudly, and started scribbling down directions on a scrap piece of parchment.

'We really should start issuing first years with _maps_.'

* * *

*apostate ( _noun_ ) – a person who forsakes their religion, cause, party or other previous beliefs/loyalties. A traitor, a liar, a heretic.

Don't worry. I didn't know what it meant either, but it's always good to learn new words...


	6. Total Eclipse of the Mind

-CHAPTER SIX-

 _ **Total Eclipse of the Mind**_

By the end of the day, Peter was in need of a long lie down. Sirius had been right – after the initial Herbology lesson, things had got noticeably harder. McGonagall had been far from lenient with them, despite her class being their second one of the day. Almost at once, she set the class up with a paperclip each and instructed them to turn them into hair slides. Peter had waved his wand and said the spell until he was blue in the face, and still his paperclip didn't even quiver. He told himself that he kept being distracted by James, whose attempts became gradually more and more successful until at last he brandished a handful of silver hair-slides under Peter's nose, earning five points apiece from Professor McGonagall. The rest of their lessons were equally difficult – double potions that afternoon saw them mixing up mild pain antidotes, and although the potions teacher seemed fairly nice, Peter soon became lightheaded from the fumes of the potions.

'I think I'm going to be sick,' he muttered to Sirius, who was desperately trying to ignore the glares of the Slytherins from across the classroom.

'Don't do it in the cauldron,' Sirius shrugged back, 'it's bad enough as it is.'

'I dunno,' said James, squinting into his, 'some vomit is probably just what it needs right now – mine is way too runny…'

'Excuse me, sir?' Remus' hand was in the air, 'I think… I don't feel so good…'

Peter thought that was an understatement. Remus was white and shaking – his cheeks were sallow and it looked as though he might throw up any second.

'Right you are,' Slughorn grimaced, 'best you'd be off. The rest of you – look over here! Gracious me, this is promising! Evans, is it?'

The red-haired girl from the train was blushing slightly and nodding as Slughorn peered at her potion, which was a rich purple and shimmering gently, just like the instructions described. As Slughorn awarded her five points to Gryffindor, James scowled slightly.

'She seems a bit full of herself, doesn't she?' he said to Peter, 'Acting all shy and innocent when she was so rude to us yesterday…'

But Peter was watching the door where Remus had dashed out.

'Is Remus alright do you think?'

'Yeah,' James shrugged, 'you said it yourself – it's stuffy in here. And from what I hear the matron really knows her stuff…'

Remus returned shortly after dinner looking a little less white, but a bit peaky nonetheless.

'I'm fine,' he insisted, 'it was just the potions fumes. I'll be fine.'

'Excellent,' James rubbed his hand together, 'we've got a few hours before we have to be back in the common room – how about we-'

'Find our way back up to the common room?'

The others stared at Peter.

'It took us ages to find our way down this morning,' he said, feeling himself flushing, 'what's the point in exploring if we don't…' he trailed off.

'He has a point,' Remus added, 'we don't want to be late again.'

James saw the logic in this, although grumbled all the way up the stairs.

'What's the point having this enormous castle if we can't-?'

He was stopped abruptly from continuing by a small shape that appeared suddenly from around the corner and cannoned straight into them, falling over on impact. After a moment, Peter realised that it was a boy. He was about Peter's own height, but skinnier, with untidy brown curls and a Gryffindor scarf that was probably four or five time too long for him.

'Watch it,' Sirius growled, picking the kid up by his collar and setting him on his feet.

'Sorry,' the boy gasped, grinning broadly, 'It's Black right? Sirius Black?'

Sirius scowled at him.

'Yeah. What's it to you?'

'Nothing,' the boy shrugged, 'well, nothing in particular, I mean. Obviously it's something, but-'

'And you are?'

'Dan,' he bounced up and down a little on the balls of his feet, 'Dan Reeve. I'm in Gryffindor, too. In the other dorm.'

'The other dorm?'

'Yeah, there are five of us, we-'

'OI! YOU KIDS!'

Peter spun around. Jogging lopsidedly along the corridor towards them was a shrivelled looking older man wearing prune-coloured robes and a furious expression.

'DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT TIME IT IS?' he roared, 'CURFEW FOR FIRST YEARS IS IN TEN MINUTES! GET MOVING!'

Without waiting for further encouragement, they moved. Quickly.

'Who the _hell_ is that?' the new boy wheezed, barely managing to keep up.

'Caretaker,' Sirius shrugged, 'I think his name's Pringle. He's a miserable old prat from what I've heard.'

'Seems it, doesn't he?' James took off his glasses and wiped them on his robes.

'Which way from here?'

Looking around, Peter didn't recognise the corridor that they were standing in at all. He was positive that they hadn't come this way on the way up to the common room the night before. To his dismay, the others looked equally stumped.

'Lead the way, Dan,' James punched him on the arm, recovering enough to grin in an encouragingly convincing fashion. The other boy blinked.

' _I_ don't know where I'm going. I've not been this way before.'

'Oh for goodness' sake,' Remus muttered, 'it's this way. Don't any of you pay attention to where you're going?' and to Peter's amazement, he started heading down the corridor.

'Why would we,' asked James, 'when we have you to sort us out?'

Even with Remus leading the way, it seemed to take them forever to find their way back up to Gryffindor tower. By the time they reached the portrait of the Fat Lady and given the password (fidelis bestia), Peter was more than ready for bed. Tumbling out of the portrait room, he started to make his way across the rooms to the dorms, but stopped when he realised the others weren't following. Dan had dragged them over to the fire, where a load of other first years were sat, two to an armchair. James was in the process of introducing himself.

'James Potter,' he was saying, 'Montrose Magpies.'

Giggling erupted from somewhere to Peter's right.

'Um, what?' asked the girl. She had masses of frizzy blonde hair and freckles, and seemed to have found James' comment rather odd.

'His Quidditch team, you chump,' said the boy sitting next to her, 'I'm Richard. Puddlemere United.'

James pulled a face.

'Could be worse, I suppose. What about the rest of you?'

There was a chorus of voices as everyone started to talk about their favourite teams, the best players, games they'd been to see, and their dreams of becoming professional players.

'Shouldn't we start with _names_?' said an amused voice that Peter recognised from the train. The red-haired girl was curled up in the armchair closest to the fire, next to an athletic looking blonde boy who was engrossed in reading his book.

'Oh, yeah,' Richard grinned, 'forgot about that. This is Lily. She doesn't follow Quidditch.'

'We know,' said Sirius dryly, 'We met on the train.'

'Wicked. That's Joe, next to her. This is Merida, and Dave next to her. Those two are Mary and Brett…' after a while, Peter gave up trying to put names to faces. There were too many for him to possibly remember all at once, and he was getting so tired…

It was a moment before he realised that everyone was staring at him. Heat crept into Peter's cheeks – he wished he was back in the dorm right now, not here, with so many eyes on him…

'He asked your name, Pete,' James grinned at him, 'Haven't forgotten it, have you?'

A few people laughed, and Peter dropped his gaze.

'Peter Pettigrew,' he mumbled, 'I support Caerphilly, just, you know, if anyone was interested…'

Most people weren't, unsurprisingly. Peter shuffled uncomfortably as James and Sirius settled right in with the other first years, leaving Remus and he standing alone outside the circle of chairs.

'He doesn't get it, does he?' Remus squinted, watching as James started re-enacting the Magpies' spectacular win against the Prides last season, which was causing much hilarity among the spectators, 'He just… doesn't get it.'

Peter did, though. He didn't need Remus to explain what he was talking about – that sinking sensation in the stomach that he always got near crowds – that feeling of being invisible. Unwanted. Worthless. Like no one cared enough to pay any attention. Peter doubted very much whether James had ever felt that way in his life. Even Sirius, who still looked ill every time someone so much as mentioned Slytherin house, seemed to fit right in with them. He was talking animatedly with a beefy-looking black kid, laughing at something the other boy had said and smirking at James, who grinned back.

'Why can't I be like that?' Peter whispered to Remus, 'why can't we just… belong?' He turned to look at Remus, and to his shock, the other boy looked even worse than Peter felt. His skin was pale and clammy, just like it had been in Potions earlier, and his eyes were bloodshot. Peter realised he must not have properly recovered from the fumes in the dungeons.

Remus paused for a moment before answering.

'No idea,' he said, in a strangled voice, and for some reason Peter didn't believe him, 'It's late. I'm going to bed.'

'Wait up!' Peter scurried after him, crashing into a fourth year girl who grumbled at him to watch where he was going. 'I'm coming too! I'm just so-' he yawned involuntarily, '…tired.'

Remus smiled slightly, waiting on the stairs for Peter to catch him up.

'I can see that. Come on – you can have first shower.'

* * *

'Thank God it's Saturday,' James sighed, for the third time that afternoon, 'We don't have to _go_ anywhere or _do_ anything until Monday morning.'

'There's the homework from McGonagall,' Sirius pointed out, enthusiastically ripping into his chicken drumstick, 'she wanted four inches of parchment on basic transfiguration theory.'

'We've got ages to do that,' James rolled his eyes, 'And it's not as if it's _difficult_. I bet you I can do it in five minutes – tops.'

'Bet you I can do it in three,' Sirius grinned, 'There's that charms practise for Woodwaith as well, but I reckon we can get away without doing that.'

James made a face.

'Oh we don't need to worry about doing _that_. It's not exactly hard to makes sparks fly out of your wand - a three year old could do it. How about we go down to the lake this afternoon? We have a look around the grounds...'

Remus dropped his gaze, squinting into his mashed potato. In every single one of their classes so far, except perhaps potions, James and Sirius hadn't seemed to have had any trouble with any of the spells. Even Remus, who had been given a pretty through education by his parents since before he could remember, had got stuck at times. But the pair of them just sailed through it, like it was the easiest thing in the world. He could only imagine how Peter must be feeling – Remus very much doubted whether he'd ever even tried to do magic before their very first Transfiguration lesson.

'You alright?' James was frowning at him over his drumstick, 'you're still not looking too good.'

'He might have been poisoned by one of the potions,' Peter suggested, looking rather excited at the prospect, 'how cool would that be? You'd be a proper Gryffindor if you could say that you survived being poisoned-'

'Shut up, Pete,' Sirius rolled his eyes, 'Remus hasn't been poisoned. He's just ill is all.'

Remus certainly felt ill. His tugging sensation in his gut was getting stronger by the minute, and his head was spinning uncomfortably – his heightened senses picked up the smallest of sounds, the faintest of smells – his brain was constantly under assault from his own senses and it was making him dizzy. He couldn't remember it ever being this bad – there was a sickness in the pit of his stomach that he didn't recognise. Remus knew what it was though, there was only one thing that it could be. He was sick with fear.

He tried to stand up, but somehow his legs didn't seem up to the job and he collapsed straight back down onto the bench.

'Take it easy there,' James frowned, 'you look like you're about to faint.'

Remus wasn't all that sure that he wasn't. He didn't understand it – the full moon was still fourteen hours away. It was never usually this bad this quickly. Normally at this point he'd just be feeling tired – not _sick_. Something was definitely wrong.

'I think I should go and see Madam Pomfrey,' he muttered, making to stand up again. When he'd spoken to her yesterday she had put his state down to the smoke in the dungeons, but this…

'Whoa,' Sirius stood up alongside him and put a hand under his arm, 'you're never going to make it to the hospital wing in your state.'

'I'm fine,' Remus lied, taking a tentative step forward. Almost at once, his knees gave way for a second time. The only thing stopping him from falling flat on his face was Sirius' hand on his elbow.

James leapt to his feet.

'Come on. We're taking you to the hospital wing.'

Remus' stomach gave an uncomfortable lurch, and for a moment he was worried that his mashed potato was going to make an unwelcome reappearance.

'No! I can-'

But James had just ducked under the table to join them.

'You're a mess. You don't look like you can make it out of the hall, let alone up the stairs by yourself.'

Before Remus could protest, James and Sirius had grabbed both his arms and were half dragging, half carrying him towards the Entrance Hall, Peter scurrying along behind.

'Put me down,' Remus argued feebly, 'I can walk on my own, alright?'

'No you can't,' James frowned, 'stop being an idiot.'

Remus' face was flushed. The four of them were getting some very odd looks – students all around them were staring at them with expressions of concern. Richard, the Gryffindor first year they had spoken to the other night, looked over as they passed.

'Everything all right?'

'Nothing serious,' James said breezily, 'just taking Remus to the hospital wing.'

Remus' stomach did another uncomfortable lurch.

'Let go of me,' he pleaded to Sirius, 'everyone is looking. I… I can't…'

Reluctantly, Sirius let go, watching Remus intently with his pale grey eyes so that a shiver ran up Remus' spine.

'Let him be, James,' Sirius said suddenly, 'he's not a baby. He can walk on his own.'

James looked incredulous.

'You're kidding-'

'He'll be fine,' Sirius shrugged, 'I can take him. Go finish your lunch.'

James looked like he was about to protest, but Sirius' sharp glare seemed to discourage him.

'Alright. I'll go get seconds. Coming Peter?'

The pair of them walked back down the table to their seats. Without a word, Sirius started moving slowly in the other direction, then stopped so that Remus could catch up with him.

'You okay?'

'Yeah,' Remus breathed, 'just… need to get out of here.'

They made it to the entrance hall. The second that they were out of sight, Remus flopped onto the floor, clutching his temples and breathing heavily. It felt like his whole head had turned to water, and was churning round and round inside his skull until Remus couldn't think straight.

'Thanks,' he breathed, 'Just… don't want people watching, you know?'

Sirius snorted.

'Yeah. I guess I do.'

Remus looked up at Sirius, who was scowling slightly at the door to the great hall.

'Are your family really that angry with you?' he asked.

Sirius shivered involuntarily.

'Yeah. I mean… You heard about the howler. McGonagall got one as well demanding I get transferred immediately.'

'Will you be?'

'Nah,' Sirius tried to smile, 'I like it where I am.'

'Really?'

He paused for a moment before answering.

'Yes,' he said firmly, 'Yes. I do. It's… different.'

'What do your cousins think about that?'

Sirius scowled again.

'I don't know. I've been avoiding them. Eventually, though…' he trailed off. Remus didn't need to ask about what he was afraid of.

'I don't know how you do it,' Remus admitted, 'cope with them all. Staring at you all the time – like you're some sort of freak for being different to them. I bet you wish you could just… melt into the background.'

'Like you do? Fly under the radar all the time?' Sirius shot him a sideways glance, but he was smiling, 'Sometimes, yeah. That would be nice.'

For a moment, they didn't move – the only sound was the soft buzz of talk from the great hall and Remus' deep breathing.

'Tell you what, though,' Sirius said suddenly, 'if we could beat them at their own game...'

'What the-'

'If we could _make them_ stare. Own it. Show them that we're not ashamed of who we are. If we show them that we're not afraid of what they think then they can't hurt us anymore. They want to stare – how about we _give them something to stare at_.'

Remus blinked.

'Did you have something in mind?'

But before Sirius could respond, there came a great sound of chairs being pushed back and people getting to their feet.

'Come on,' Sirius grunted, 'they'll all be coming out in a minute,' he extended a hand to Remus, pulling him to his feet and over to the marble staircase, 'we should get you to Madam Pomfrey – she should be able to figure out what's wrong with you. _Was it_ the potions do you reckon?'

'No idea,' Remus lied.

* * *

It was cold that night. Remus shivered beneath his robes, staring up at the sky as clouds drifted lazily across the first glimmers of starlight. The moon would rise soon. He could feel it.

'Have you got everything you need, dear?' Madam Pomfrey asked briskly, throwing a blanket over his shoulders and wrapping it tightly around him, 'have you had enough to eat? Do you want-'

'I'll be fine,' Remus muttered, 'I don't need anything. Just… make sure I can't get out.'

The matron nodded, reaching into her robes for her wand.

'Right. We'd best be off.'

They started out across the grounds. Remus felt sick to his stomach – his bones ached and his head was still throbbing. He could hear every blade of grass stir in the wind, every insect scurrying past his shoes. The sounds of the castle almost deafened him – hundreds of voices blurring together until they sounded like the breath of a single living entity. He wanted to run and hide and never come out again.

'Professor Dumbledore is already waiting,' informed Madam Pomfrey, 'he's been putting up the necessary enchantments. You'll be safe in there.'

He nodded, numbly. It was nice of her to put it that way, but it didn't change the fact that both of them knew that it wasn't _his_ safety that he was worried about.

'Are you sure I won't be able to get out? Only-'

'Positive,' the matron smiled. Remus couldn't help but noticed how forced her expression looked, 'Dumbledore knows what he's doing.'

Somehow, Remus found that reassuring. After Dumbledore's visit to his house in the summer, Remus had read everything that he could get his hands on about the man from his father's books. Although Remus had discovered that Dumbledore was a highly controversial figure in many ways, everything that he had read seemed to agree on one point: Albus Dumbledore was the greatest wizard alive. To know that a man like that was looking out for him… well. Remus couldn't help but feel a little better when the headmaster was around.

'Here we are.' Madam Pomfrey threw out an arm across Remus' chest, 'don't get any closer.'

Remus looked up. They were standing in front of a tree – a large tree. It had long hanging branches that were moving madly in the wind.

Except, Remus realised, the wind was blowing in the opposite direction to the direction of the branches. The tree was moving of its own accord.

'Is that-'

'A whomping willow,' Madam Pomfrey sniffed, 'very difficult to procure. This one cost a small fortune – it took Professor Kimber a whole day to get it to take root… very tricky species. Get too close and it will knock you right off your feet!'

Remus eyed the tree, feeling slightly guilty that he'd caused it to be there in the first place. How much had it cost Dumbledore to get hold of something like this? He'd never heard of whomping willows before, but he'd bet anything that you couldn't buy them in Diagon Alley.

'So… er… how do you get closer?'

'Watch.'

With a flick of her wand, Madam Pomfrey lifted a heavy-looking branch from the ground and sent it flying towards the whomping willow's truck. With a dull thud, it smashed into a large round know in the trunk about half way up. At once, the branches stopped swaying.

'I'm not sure how hard you have to hit it,' she muttered, 'better be safe than sorry.'

Remus still wasn't all that sure that it was safe, but nonetheless he followed Madam Pomfrey towards the tree, keeping one eye on the branches as he did so.

'There's a gap in the roots,' Madam Pomfrey explained, 'the passage behind it will take you straight to the house.'

'You're not coming?' Remus spluttered. She could be a bit sharp at times, but Remus was beginning to like Madam Pomfrey. She reminded him a little of his mother, who, like the matron, refused to let anyone get in the way of her doing what was best for others.

'Ordinarily I will,' she explained, looking a little surprised at Remus' reaction, 'but tonight Professor Dumbledore wanted to speak to you alone. He's already down there.'

Remus nodded glumly.

'Um… okay. Thanks, you know, for everything.'

The matron smiled.

'No problem, my dear. Good luck.'

And she set off back towards the castle, leaving Remus alone underneath the deranged tree with nothing but the pull in his gut, which grew stronger by the second. Not long left, now.

Apprehensively, he ducked down under the roots and fell a few feet down a bank of earth and onto the floor of the tunnel. The roof was quite low and dusty, with tree roots jutting through the soil and huge clumps of mud dangling from the ceiling. In the dim light of dusk, it seemed to stretch on forever.

'Good evening,' came a pleasant voice. Remus jumped. He hadn't realised that he wasn't alone.

'I startled you,' said Professor Dumbledore, looking down at Remus with an expression far more serious than Remus had come to expect from him, 'Please accept my apology. I can imagine that tonight will be quite frightening enough for you without strange old men creeping up on you in underground tunnels.'

Despite himself, Remus smiled slightly.

'It's fine,' he whispered, 'I'm fine.'

Dumbledore's lip curled slightly, but not maliciously.

'Yes,' he smiled, 'I can see that. Come. We don't have much time.'

They set off down the passage. Dumbledore walked purposefully, despite being bent double under the low roof. Remus had to half jog to keep up with the light from the headmaster's wand.

'Am I right in thinking,' Dumbledore asked, 'that this is the first time you have transformed without your father present?'

Remus mumbled an assent.

Dumbledore sighed, deeply.

'I'm afraid that you're going to find this, rather more difficult that we had previously thought. I've been informed that you have been feeling rather worse than usual these past couple of days. Is this correct.'

Remus nodded meekly.

'I have been led to believe,' Dumbledore frowned, ducking to avoid a low-hanging root, 'that the side-effects of your condition can be lessened somewhat by maintaining a collected and relaxed state of mind, or rather, keeping a firm hold on one's sense of self. You experiences over the past few days support this. It is likely that you have been under extreme stress, or been somewhat disorientated by an unfamiliar environment. I'm guessing that it is this state of confusion and unfamiliarity that has been causing your enhanced discomfort.'

Remus tried to nod again, but it made his head spin too much. Dumbledore was probably right. In the past, he'd spent the days leading up to the full moon in uneasy anticipation of it, trying to remain calm and focused so that he wouldn't lose control. Recently, he'd been so scared of the transformation that he'd lost all control over his own thoughts, to the point that the wolf had started to creep into his bones and tug at his mind before the moon was even full. He'd have to be more careful in future.

'I understand.'

Dumbledore chuckled slightly.

'My dear boy, I don't think there's anyone in the world that truly understands the nature of lycanthropy. We can only make guesses, at this stage, as to the causes of such a terrible condition. Monitoring werewolves during their transformation is an almost impossible thing for a human to do, as the presence of people causes them to behave in a way that exceeds savagery. There is speculation, however, that the transformation is different from werewolf to werewolf. It is up to you to learn all that you can about your own, so that you might find ways to make it easier to bare.'

'I can't remember the details,' Remus muttered, 'It's all just… pain. I can remember snatches, once it's all over. I remember little bits of what it's like, being the wolf. The rest is just…' he trailed off, unsure of how to describe it. Thankfully, Dumbledore did not press any further, and they walked the rest of the way in silence.

'Ah! Here we are!'

The tunnel floor was beginning to rise steeply upwards. After a sharp bend in the path, Remus found himself in a very dark, damp room. The paper on the walls was plain and pale, and the windows had been newly nailed shut with heavy planks of wood.

'This is it,' Dumbledore said sombrely, 'I will leave you shortly. There are enchantments surrounding the house that will prevent you from leaving the second that the moon starts to rise. They encompass everywhere, excluding the few feet surrounding the entrance to the tunnel, so you will be able to move freely through the house without being able to get close to any exits.'

He checked his watch.

'The moon will be at its apex at two minutes past five tomorrow morning. Although you will likely have transformed back by then, it is likely that you will be in no fit state to be moved, so we will come for you shortly after. Is there anything that you would like us to bring? Food? Water?'

Remus shook his head. His breath was coming in rasps now. The ache in his bones was beginning to turn to a sharp, throbbing pain.

'Go,' he tried to smile, but fell rather short, 'I'll be fine. Thank you. For all of this. I…'

Dumbledore reached out and put a hand on Remus' shoulder.

'In my experience, when someone says that they are _fine_ it is an indication that they are not.'

'I'm _fine_ ,' Remus said loudly, 'wait- that's not- I mean…' he started again. 'You have to go. Thanks, but there's nothing else you can do. I'll be alright on my own.'

Dumbledore gave Remus a long, piercing look from over the top of his half-moon glasses. His gaze was so intense that Remus wondered for a moment if the headmaster was reading his mind, but after a few seconds Dumbledore blinked, smiling reassuringly.

'Well, if you're sure. Good night, Remus. And good luck.'

And with that, he disappeared through the hole in the floorboards and down into the tunnel.

The second that he was gone, Remus began to undress. With trembling fingers, he undid the clasp on his cloak and folded it neatly, placing it safely on the floor of the tunnel. He didn't want to accidentally ruin his clothes during the night. They'd been expensive enough as it was, and he didn't want to have to write home asking for new robes within the first week. He'd already cost his parents enough.

Even with his clothes on, it had been freezing in the house. Without them, Remus' teeth wouldn't stop chattering. The walls seemed oddly thin, allowing gusts of wind to creep through gaps in the wooden boards and make the room feel like the inside of a freezer. Remus pushed against one of the walls to test how strong it was, but found himself thrown back on to the floor. Bruised, he got to his feet. At least he knew the protection spells worked.

He was just about to set off and explore the rest of the house when pain exploded in his shoulder blades, making him double over, wheezing. He'd told Dumbledore that he couldn't remember his transformations, but the truth was that they were etched onto his memory like carvings on stone. He would never forget a single one, as long as he lived. What came after… well. Remus didn't think of those memories as his own. They belonged to the monster inside of him, and he had no desire to dwell on them, no matter what Dumbledore said.

The transformation always started like this. His shoulders would begin to crack. His spine would change a vertebrae at a time, starting from the base of his neck and working downwards, each one breaking and reforming until he couldn't stand upright any more. He would be forced onto all fours, gasping for breath and cursing as white-hot pain travelled down his back like the burning of a fuse. Next, his ribs would bend into shape, crushing his heart and lungs until they too began to change – one by one his cells would divide, and the wolf's cells would take their place, the wolf's heart would replace his own and it would be the wolf's blood flowing through his body, not his own. The pain in his hands and feet would be excruciating. At that point his limbs would give way and he'd curl up on the floor, whimpering in pain as his own fingers turned to talons of razor-sharp bone. The tail was relatively painless – new bones would grow from the base of his pelvis, which would already have been distorted into its new form along with his neck and shoulders. The worst part was his skull – that changed slowly. At the start of the transformation his nose would elongate and his teeth lengthen, but the final snapping of his forehead into shape was the final part of the change. After that, his mind would no longer be his own. The tissues surrounding his brain would be screaming from the force of his ever-moving skull, but ironically, the last change of all would be utterly painless. His brain wouldn't feel anything as it reworked itself into the mind of a monster. That was the worst part. He'd be left standing there, a fully formed wolf, powerless to stop it as his sense of self was crushed by the mad hunger of the beast inside of him.

As long, dark fur began to grow on his face and hands, Remus suddenly felt a little stronger.

No, he told himself, I'm not just going to stand there. I'm going to fight this. Even if nothing happens, I can try. The wolf does not define me. _I am not ashamed_.

His neck began to contort, new vertebrae snapping into place and making it difficult for Remus to breathe.

My name is Remus Lupin, he told the wolf, and I am not afraid of you.

From deep inside Remus, something, somewhere, started to howl. Desperately, he pictured himself standing over the beast, holding it at wand-tip and refusing to let it come any closer.

No, he thought, you can't take me. I… My name is…

The wolf lunged at him, seizing him in his jaws and making him scream in agony. His skull cracked, and the neurons in his brain began to change, working independently of what Remus was telling them to do. His limbs began to move, as if of their own free will – in seconds he was racing through the house at a speed Remus hadn't thought possible. The wolf was taking over.

No, he tried to whisper, but his mouth did not respond, this isn't who I am. My name is Remus Lupin, and I am not a monster.

His last memory before losing consciousness was of the wolf, head thrown back, howling at the moon through a break in the window.

* * *

 **AN: Ahhh! Sorry it's a week late! I hope I made up for it though with all the gory lycanthropic details (well not _actually_ gory but you know what I mean). To the guest who reviewed last chapter - don't worry, there will be no wolfstar (sorry if that disappoints anyone). Just lots of bromance. XD  
**

 **LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THINK**

 **Scribe Xx**

 **P.S. I haven't _actually_ proof read this chapter so apologies that it's kind of crappy... I swear I'll get round to it at some point. Unless someone is willing to Beta...?**


	7. Chance Encounters

**AN: Sooo this is beyond late. Sorry about that. Just so you know. I'm not giving up on this fic and am working on it at every available opportunity - my problem is that as summer exams get closer, the amount of available opportunities decreases dramatically… So yeah. If updates are a little more infrequent don't think that I am abandoning this – assume that I am drowning under piles of biology revision and will get back to this as soon as possible. Wish me luck, and obviously R &R if you can. Cheers  
**

 **Scribe Xx**

* * *

-CHAPTER SEVEN-

 _ **Chance Encounters**_

It was a whole week before James finally got his wish and was given complete free rein to explore. With Remus in the hospital wing for the whole weekend, he had been reluctant to have too much fun without him. James liked Remus a lot. He was smart, and had a wicked sense of direction. James wondered if this was part of the reason that he was so quiet – he paid more attention to his surroundings than he did to the people in them.

Besides, he kept Peter from getting into too much trouble. As much as James liked the kid, there was no denying that he certainly got a bit _irritating_ after a while. If it had just been him and Sirius, James might have been willing to forget about Remus and his navigational skills and go exploring anyway. As it was, Remus falling ill was a pretty convenient excuse not to have to spend too much time alone with Peter. Instead, the three of them had spent the rest of the weekend in the Gryffindor common room. Thinking quickly, James had challenged the other two to a chess tournament. As he had expected, Peter had blushed a little and confessed that he didn't know how to play, which left James free to thrash it out with Sirius while Peter watched. He didn't think that Peter minded much, however – it _had_ been a very entertaining match. He and Sirius had been so evenly matched that the ferocity of their competition had attracted a small crowd of older students. Sirius won in the end – his spectacular capture of James' castle with a second queen had tipped the balance in his favour, and James had struggled to hold his own after that.

'Another time, perhaps?' Sirius had grinned, throwing James' king in the air and catching it deftly.

'Definitely,' James had promised.

Remus returned late on Monday evening, but going into their second week they had found their evenings were quickly filled up with homework. Any free time that they had was spent in the Library, slogging through Professor Binns' report on notable magical inventions in the fifteenth century.

'Why are we doing this?' James groaned at Sirius, who appeared to have given up referring to the dusty tome on his knee and was instead wracking his brains for inspiration.

'Who the hell knows, mate?' Sirius shrugged, 'if I have to read another thing about enchanted paperweights…'

'This is _tedious_ ,' James slammed his book shut so loudly that Peter jumped, dropping a huge blot of ink all over his introduction, 'If all our homework is this boring I might just stop doing it. I mean… It's not as if it's _arithmancy_ or something difficult like that…'

By the time Friday came, James was tearing his hair out.

'You've _got_ to be joking,' he exclaimed, after Professor Slughorn announced jovially that he expected seven inches on antidotes by Monday morning.

'Certainly not, my boy,' Slughorn had squinted at him, 'Come on, it's not _that_ bad. Smart young thing like you – won't take you half an hour.'

Slughorn was right. It _wouldn't_ take him half an hour. He'd get it done in less than twenty. That was what was bothering him – he'd expected that learning magic would be difficult - as it was he was practically falling asleep. He didn't _mind_ the work. It was just… too easy. It was driving him insane.

'That's it,' he said to the others as they piled into the Great Hall for dinner, 'I'm going through the whole castle tomorrow. I'm going to start in the Entrance Hall and work my way up until I reach the top of the Astronomy Tower. I want to _explore_.'

'I'm in,' Sirius said at once, 'If I have to spend any more time in the Library getting stared at by the Slytherins…'

'Me too,' Remus said after a brief pause. James thought that he looked a lot better than he had done a week ago. When he'd first seen him on the train, he'd thought that Remus looked as though someone had stolen all of the colour from his face. Now, though, his skin was flushed slightly pink with excitement, and his brown eyes gleamed. Clearly the Hogwarts food was doing him some good.

Peter, however, looked terrified.

'We can't! We have to finish that essay for Binns!'

Sirius curled his lip.

'Oh, _that_. I've already finished.'

'Same,' James frowned, 'Come on, it wasn't _that_ difficult, Pete. If you go straight up after dinner and finish it now…'

'Or you could just _not_ ,' Sirius shrugged, 'it's not as if it's ever going to be useful in real life.'

Remus bit his lip.

'Surely it wouldn't hurt to put if off for another few days? The castle's not going to _go_ anywhere…'

'No,' James was adamant, 'Sirius is right. I'm not spending the whole weekend shut up in the common room working _again_. Anyway, you can finish it tonight, can't you Pete?'

Peter didn't reply. Instead, he ladled gravy glumly onto his parsnips and didn't speak for the rest of the evening.

' _How_ is he still writing it?' Sirius muttered to James when they were back in the common room. Peter was sitting at one of the tables near the fire, scribbling furiously. Remus had gone to get his own essay, despite his misgivings that letting Peter read it would be cheating. 'He started it at the same time as us, and he's been working on it all week.'

'Do you reckon he's illiterate?' James shrugged, 'It's taken him _three_ _days_ to fill a foot of parchment. It would make sense.'

'Just because he's not as smart as you that doesn't mean he's _illiterate_.'

James spun around in his chair. Lily was standing behind them, arms folded and feet apart.

'Did anyone ever tell you that it's rude to eavesdrop?'

'Did anyone ever tell _you_ that you're an insensitive prat?'

'Come on, Evans. No one needs three days to write a few hundred words…'

'Some people _do_ ,' Lily snapped, 'not everyone is like _you_.'

James stared at her.

'What is _that_ supposed to mean?'

'Like you don't know,' she tossed her hair indignantly, 'You think that just because your parents let you get away with everything you're somehow better than the rest of us. Well you're _not_.'

'That's-' James spluttered, but Lily wasn't finished.

'Quit acting like you know everything already just because your daddy was rich enough to pay for you to have lessons before you came here. Not all of us were raised in rich wizarding families like _you were._ So don't you dare start picking on your _friend_ because he can't rattle off an essay in five minutes like _you_ can. It's not his fault he wasn't raised the same as you.'

And she stormed off, leaving James goggling after her with his mouth hanging open.

'Well! That was… she is _bang_ out of order!'

'She has a point, mate,' Sirius shrugged, reaching for a sugar quill and sticking the end into his mouth, 'We don't choose our families.'

'She called me an insensitive prat!'

'Okay that _was_ out of order,' Sirius agreed, 'But still. She's right. Peter probably can't help the fact that he's dumb as bricks, bless him.'

'Fact remains that he _is_ dumb as bricks.'

'Oh yeah,' Sirius sucked his quill thoughtfully; 'I don't think anyone's disputing that.'

'Disputing what?'

Remus was standing in the doorway to the boys' dorms, essay in hand.

'Who's better,' Sirius lied, without the merest hesitation, 'McGonagall or Aborshate.'

James felt something hard collide with his leg under the table, and caught on quickly.

'It's no contest,' he added hastily, 'Aborshate. He didn't set us _any_ homework. And did you see the way he jinxed that pixie?'

'But McGonagall, though,' Sirius insisted, throwing his hands in the air to illustrate his point 'She's so _hard core_. I mean, she just raises an eyebrow and the whole class goes _silent_. Just like that…'

Remus sighed.

'McGonagall,' he said, 'if I had to choose. Now if you'll excuse me?'

James leaned forward in his chair to let him pass. He waited until Remus was safely out of earshot before turning to Sirius.

'Nicely done.'

'Cheers,' Sirius grinned, looking pleased, 'For the record, McGonagall _is_ way better than Aborshate. He seemed a bit of a loser if you ask me.'

'Maybe,' James agreed, 'but Defence Against the Dark Arts is so much cooler than Transfiguration.'

'You're _good_ at transfiguration.'

'I don't care. Defence Against the Dark Arts is still cooler.'

Sirius sighed.

'Agreed. McGonagall wins, though.'

James didn't answer straight away. He'd suddenly been reminded about the way that McGonagall had pulled him forward at the sorting ceremony _before_ she'd known his name – and about the brief smile that he could have sworn she'd given him. He mentioned this to Sirius, who shrugged it off.

'Maybe she's a Legilimens. Maybe she knew your parents - or maybe she just _really_ likes Sleekeazy's Hair potion…'

James stared at him.

'How did you-'

'My cousins swear by it,' Sirius smirked at him, 'Oh come on, you didn't think I wouldn't find out that it was your dad that invented the stuff?'

James could feel himself going slightly red. Self-consciously, he ran a hand through his own hair in a vain attempt to flatten it.

'So what if he did?'

Sirius glanced at the top of James' head and snickered slightly.

'Well… looks to me as though you could do with a good bottle of Sleekeazy's-'

He ducked the textbook that James threw at him with ease.

'Just saying,' Sirius shrugged, 'there are worse things that your father could be famous for.'

'Oh yeah?' James glared at him, 'Like what?'

He instantly regretted it. Sirius' grey eyes flashed dangerously, and James hurriedly went to retrieve the thrown book.

Other than what Sirius had said, James knew relatively little about the other boy's family. He'd heard the name, of course, and the odd rumour – things he remembered his parents discussing when they thought he was asleep. From what he could gather, the Blacks were associated with the worst kind of dark magic. If what James had overheard was true, though, no one had ever been able to prove it. Somehow, he didn't want to be the one to ask Sirius about it. Especially not now that the other boy finally seemed to have accepted his life as a Gryffindor.

* * *

The next morning, Peter was beginning to panic. He still hadn't finished the essay. James had suggested that he could come and find them when he was finished, but Peter wasn't so sure. He watched as James and Sirius piled out of the portrait hole without a second glance, but Remus paused with his hand on the back of the canvas, looking over his shoulder at Peter.

'You'll come and find us when you're done, yeah?'

Peter nodded sullenly, his heart heavy in his chest. He knew that Remus meant well, but he knew that there was no way that he'd be able to catch up with the others. The castle was _huge_ , and the grounds were even bigger. Peter wouldn't ever find them on his own.

If it was up to him, he'd have forgotten about the essay and gone with the others anyway. But every time he considered this, his mother's face swam into the front of his mind. He didn't want to have to explain to her that he'd been the first in his year to be given a detention – it would upset her considerably, and if Peter was honest with himself, it would upset too.

Coward, he thought to himself, you're too scared of breaking the rules to join in with your friends. No wonder they want to leave you behind.

'You alright there?'

Peter looked up. The red-headed Quidditch captain that had spoken to them at the start of term feast was standing over him, eyeing the stack of books on Peter's lap with interest. Too nervous to say anything, Peter merely nodded.

'Bit keen aren't you? Working this hard on an essay when it's only your second week?'

Peter blushed.

'All the others have finished it,' he mumbled, quickly putting the books on the table and covering up his roll of parchment, which was still woefully empty.

'Ah,' the other boy sat down next to him. To Peter's horror, he shifted the books to the side and started to read Peter's composition, 'Slow starter? Never mind, you'll catch up eventually.'

He looked up from the parchment briefly, squinting at Peter with thin brown eyes.

'It's Peter, isn't it?' When Peter didn't correct him, he stuck out his hand. Peter shook it tentatively. 'Gideon Prewett. I'm in Sixth year.'

Peter watched as the older boy scanned the first few lines of his essay, writhing in his seat and wiping his hands nervously on his trousers. To distract himself, he stared absent-mindedly into the fireplace, which was cold and covered in ash from the night before. He had a mad urge to seize the parchment from Gideon's hands and shred it into the grate.

Gideon was looking thoughtful.

'Typical Binns,' he muttered, 'this shit isn't useful to anyone. Fab should be able to give it a go, though.'

He turned around in his seat and, to Peter's dismay, yelled across the room.

'Oi! Fab! Get over here!'

Another boy, a little younger than Gideon, was making his way slowly down the stairs from the boys' dorms. Mid yawn, he looked up and nodded in acknowledgement, walking sleepily across the crowded common room towards the fire.

' _What_?' he demanded.

'Good morning to you too,' Gideon grinned, 'Fab, this is Peter. Peter, this is my brother Fabien. He's doing History of Magic at OWL level. God only knows why…'

'S'interesting,' Fabien yawned again, 'and it's _easy_. All you have to do is remember some facts and write them down…'

Gideon rolled his eyes, and Peter got the impression that they'd already had this discussion several times before.

'Got any good facts about notable magical inventions in the fifteenth century? Young Peter here has a report that he would like to finish as quickly as possible.'

Fabien's eyes lit up, and he looked truly awake for the first time that morning.

'Fifteenth century, eh? Let's see… there's the enchanted paperweight – that was an important one. Gold was invented around that time, too, so you could talk about the development of magical golf clubs and the need to protect pitches from …'

And he was off. Peter belatedly seized a quill and started trying to scribble everything that he was saying down, but within a matter of minutes he was completely lost. Fabien was talking at a break-neck speed, rattling through the finer points of how to charm sets of ordinary muggle type case.

'Here,' he said exasperatedly, after Peter asked him to slow down for the third time. Snatching the quill from Peter's hand, he began writing furiously on a fresh scroll of parchment. Within ten minutes, he had covered both sides in rows upon rows of messy scrawl. Gideon was grinning.

'Told you Fab would be able to help,' he winked at Peter, 'Binns isn't an idiot, though – he'll recognise your handwriting, Fab.'

'Nah,' Fabien wrinkled his nose. 'He hasn't even noticed that he's _dead_ , let alone what my handwriting looks like.'

'I wouldn't bet on it. You're probably the first student he's ever met that pays attention to anything he says – the dude loves you.'

Pulling out his wand, he tapped the corner of Fabien's report with the tip of it, then did the same to the half-written essay in Peter's lap. Peter watched in fascination as the ink lines on both sheets began to move across the page in short squiggly lines, reworking themselves until the letters changed shape. When he looked back at Fabien's scroll, he was amazed to see that the words now looked as though Peter had written them himself.

'There you go,' Gideon handed him the new report, screwing up the old one and throwing it into the fireplace, 'that should be enough to shut Binns up for a while, if that's even possible. Go find your friends.'

'Thanks,' Peter gasped, not quite sure exactly what to say.

'Don't mention it,' Gideon winked, 'and if you need anything else, come and find us.'

Without waiting for further instruction, Peter dashed off through the portrait hole, carefully rolling up the parchment into his pocket for safe-keeping. The others had already been gone for three quarters of an hour – there was no telling how far they might have got in that time. He had some vague recollection of James planning on starting in the Entrance Hall, but he had been unclear about where he wanted to go next. From there, the others might have gone down into the dungeons, or out into the courtyard, or into the upper floors. They might have left the castle all together and be somewhere in the grounds. If Peter was going to find them, he would need a miracle.

'Hey!'

Not looking where he was going, Peter turned a corner on the fourth floor and crashed into the girl at full speed. He was knocked back several feet, gasping for breath.

'Sorry!' he panted, 'didn't see–'

He stopped dead. The girl was several feet taller than him and much, _much_ older. She had large, dark eyes that were deep-set and frowning at Peter in a way that he didn't much like, and her dark hair fell on a thick green and silver scarf that was draped luxuriously over her thin shoulders. Peter felt his knees begin to shake slightly, and his palms began to sweat.

The girl didn't seem too angry, though. Her irritated expression changed quickly to one of curiosity.

'Don't worry about it,' she waved a hand in dismissal, 'you're the kid that's always following my cousin around, aren't you?'

'I…'

'You're friends with Sirius Black?'

Peter couldn't help but think that there were several different answers to this. In the end he decided that just nodding was probably the best thing to do.

'Do you know where he is?'

Peter shook his head.

'When you see him, can you tell him to stop avoiding me?'

Peter nodded again, decided that the conversation was probably drawing to an end, and made to walk past her.

'Hold on,' the girl put a hand on his robes, pulling him back a few feet. She reached into her bag and pulled out a black leather journal. Working quickly, she found the page she was looking for and scribbled down a few words in the bottom corner with a pencil. Then she tore it out and handed it to Peter.

'Give him this, will you? Tell him Andromeda gave it to you.'

Mutely, Peter took the page and stuffed it into his pocket. Before the girl could say anything else, he dashed around the corner and down a flight of stairs that took him to the second floor. It was only when he reached the marble staircase in the Entrance Hall that it occurred to him to check what the girl had written. When he unfolded it, he was surprised to see that it wasn't writing at all, but a picture, drawn in scarlet ink. It showed a girl in a long dress and a tiara, her arms thrown around the neck of a gigantic, shaggy-haired dog. From the fading of the ink, Peter guessed that it had been drawn some time ago, but the pencil scratches that the Slytherin girl had made were still clear.

 _You're the brave one, remember? 9pm Wednesday – Dungeon 4. Dx_

Peter wasn't sure what the drawing meant, but he _did_ know that it looked very much as though the girl wanted to meet Sirius at nine o'clock on Wednesday evening – an hour past the time that first years had to be back in the common room.

He put the paper back in his pocket, guessing that even if he didn't understand the message, Sirius would probably know what his cousin was trying to say. All he had to do now was figure out now was where the others had got to.

Peter looked around the Entrance Hall. It was deserted. Through the open front doors he could see a sliver of grounds – students were milling across the front lawns, talking loudly and moving quickly in the crisp autumn sunshine. Tentatively, he peered out from the top of the steps. The others were nowhere in sight. Beginning to panic, he turned back around – to his right was the door to the dungeons. They might have gone down there, but the thought of going into the dark, dank, sinister dungeon passages all on his own was something that Peter couldn't bear the thought of. Without much hope, he stuck his head into the Great Hall. It too was empty, except for Professor Aborshate, the Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, and Professor Kimber, who taught Herbology. Peter ducked out before they could spot him.

'You alright there Pete?'

Marlene and her friend Lauren were walking towards Peter from the direction of a door that he hadn't noticed before, tucked away behind the marble staircase.

'Marlene! It's so good to see you - I don't suppose you've seen, I mean, in the last hour – I've not got a clue where-'

'Whoa,' Marlene grinned, 'take a deep breath. Chill. Now, what's the problem?'

Peter took a breath.

'The others,' he sighed, 'I don't know where they went – they went exploring but I had homework to finish and-'

'The others? James Potter and Sirius Black?'

Peter nodded.

'They went that way,' Lauren mumbled, making Peter jump. She was pointing over her shoulder to the door that they had just come out of, the one tucked away to the right of the marble staircase. 'We passed them on the way up.'

'Don't know where they think they're going,' Marlene frowned, 'there's nothing down there except our common room, and they won't be able to get it _there_. No one who's not Hufflepuff has managed to get in for a thousand years. They don't stand a chance.'

Lauren shook her head.

'The kitchens are down there. If you tickle the pear in the painting of the fruit bowl…'

Marlene stared at her in astonishment.

'Well, what d'you know? Lauren Collins, I never pegged you for a rulebreaker!'

Lauren blushed.

'It's not _against the rules_ , exactly…'

Marlene grabbed her friend by the arm and dragged her off, laughing.

'Well, good luck to you Pete! Enjoy your weekend!'

'You too,' Peter mumbled. Without waiting any longer, he dashed off, unable to contain his excitement. Not only did he know where the others were, but when he found them they were likely to be in possession of a great deal of _food_.

The painting of the fruit bowl was hanging about halfway down the corridor, next to a huge canvas of a gigantic chocolate gateau with birthday candles that flickered and slowly dripped wax. Mouth watering, Peter reached out and tickled the pear, which morphed into a large green door knob. Eagerly, Peter pulled the canvas open and stepped inside, but no sooner had he done so than a small pale _something_ appeared at his side holding a tray of biscuits.

'Can I help you?' the _something_ squeaked. It had enormous pale eyes and wide ears like a bat's. Rather strangely, it was wearing what appeared to be a tea towel tied like a toga, and stamped with the Hogwarts crest.

'Er-'

'Peter!'

Peter looked up. It was as though he was standing in the great hall, only the ceiling was slightly lower, and it was crawling with dozens of little _somethings_ – Peter thought they looked a bit like goblins, but were smaller, and seemed a lot more cheerful. James and Remus were sitting at what would have been the Gryffindor table, while Sirius was standing just behind them.

Relieved, Peter ran over to them.

'There you are,' James grinned, 'Look! The house-elves made us treacle tart! Help yourself!'

Peter nodded, taking a large slice and shovelling it into his mouth as quickly as he could. It tasted wonderful.

'How did you get here so quickly?' Remus asked quietly, 'You'd barely got halfway through when we left, and we've only been gone an hour or so.'

Peter explained all about Gideon and Fabien, and then about Marlene and Lauren telling him where to go.

'That Marlene girl is a funny one,' James mused over another piece of tart, 'I've been trying to figure out why she might have been in St. Mungo's last year… I didn't see her in any of the wards whenever I went in with Mum…'

He was interrupted by the appearance of one of the _somethings_ at his elbow.

'Would master Potter like any more tea?' it asked shrilly, gesturing at the empty cup at his elbow.

'Thanks Minsey,' he grinned, 'If you could bring the pot, that would be great.'

Peter waited until the _thing_ had left before he asked:

'Um, what _are_ those things?'

'House-elves,' Sirius groaned, 'Obsequious little shits. You should meet the one we've got at home.'

'Come on, they're not _that_ bad…' James frowned, watching as one of the ones closest to him started carefully shaking sprinkles onto freshly-iced fairy cakes, 'I mean, they can cook, at least. Wait – _you_ have a house elf?

Sirius nodded glumly.

'Don't get too excited. He's a right old creep.'

At the mention of Sirius' family, Peter suddenly remembered the message that the Slytherin girl had given him. Reaching into his pocket, he handed it to Sirius, who took it, frowning.

'Where did you get this?'

'Andromeda gave it to me.'

James blinked.

'Who's Andromeda?'

Sirius scowled.

'My cousin. She wants me to meet her after curfew on Wednesday.'

'Great! What time?'

'Don't do it,' Remus spoke up, going slightly pink as James and Sirius looked at him, 'you don't want to get into trouble.'

'We won't,' James shrugged, taking another huge bite of treacle tart. 'At least, not if we don't get caught…'


	8. (This isn't a real chapter!)

**AN: Hello! Sorry to get you all excited - this isn't a real chaper :)**

 **I just wanted to thank you for your patience and let you know that exams are finally over! Yay! This means that I no longer have to spend every waking hour slogging over pointless revision and I can turn my attention back to this wretched little bunch of marauding miscreants and carry on with the story. Happy days.**

 **ATM I'm going back over the chapters I've already written and doing a bit of much needed proof-reading. In my rush to get things posted the quality of each chapter took a bit of a nose-dive towards the end there, and the pacing of the whole thing is WAY off. So don't be surpised if I end up doing some serious re-modelling of the chapters already up. Within the next week or so I should (hopefully) get some of the editing out of the way and be in a better position to keep writing the next chapter. One of my main concerns is that there hasn't been nearly enough _marauding_ thus far - so keep checking back for a little bit of magical magical - mischief making.** **In the meantime - thanks for reading and remember to leave a review (or five)!**

 **Scribe Xx**


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